Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 40

Health Matters

 

Bonk Eye.Recently, I've noticed something.That, in itself, is remarkable.Moving on . . .I work with a group of elderly people.Some of them like nothing better than talking about their health.Or lack thereof.I've been treated to stories of gallbladders.Knees.Hips.Hearts.Lungs.Mysterious lumps.And a plethora of aches and pains.I cluck sympathetically.Knowing that each of these ailments is now starting to visit me.But what is truly remarkable is the fact that the very young people I also associate with, ie. my grandchildren, are equally interested in their health.Scrapes, bruises and cuts are examined minutely and then displayed, accompanied by a lurid tale of woe.Often.Sometimes, a tiny wound might go undetected for several days. Have scabbed over and be well on its way to healing. But once discovered, it must be fussed over and bandaged and kissed.Several times.My two-year-old granddaughter had fallen and bumped her head.Just above her eye.After the initial tears and hysteria, she had examined her wound in the mirror.There was a distinct bruise.“Mom!” she said loudly. “Bonk eye!”Her mother agreed that, yes, she had 'bonked' her eye.But that wasn't enough.She had to tell everyone in the room.Several times.Later, at dinner, she mentioned it again.Several more times.Her uncle Tristan, having been at an activity, was late to dinner.He slid into his chair and started dishing out food.Here was someone new to tell.“Unca Tristan!” she said, “Bonk eye!”Tristan looked at her. “Yes, I see that you bonked your eye,” he said. He started eating.“Unca Tristan, look! Bonk eye!”“Yes,” he said.“Bonk eye, Unca Tristan!”“Yes.”She took a couple of bites of food. Then, “Unca Tristan!”“I know,” he broke in, rather wearily.“Bonk eye!”“Yes.”This went on through the remainder of the meal.And every time we saw her for the next couple of weeks.Long after the slight bruise had healed.And until the next injury pushed it off the front page.Then it was, “Unca Tristan! Look!”He looked at me. “On, man. Are we going to have another chorus of 'bonk-eye'?” I laughed.Health issues.Most important at each end of the age scale.Differing only in seriousness.Not in concern.

The Original Field Trip

Easy HarderLiving on a great Alberta cattle ranch has its ups and downs.

Maybe I should explain . . .

In Alberta, cattle are generally raised in one of two locations. 

In a feedlot. This is for the ‘feeder’ cattle. Those animals one to two years old without offspring. 

The upside of a feedlot operation is that when you have to check on your animals, you just walk out into the corral and . . . look. The downside is it’s rather smelly.

But the cattle are happy and healthy with regular feedings and good friends to stand around with, so all is well.

The other location most frequently used is the field. Now the field, as suggested by its name, is out . . . in the field. So . . . not close to the house.

Checking the cattle every day requires a good horse and rider. (ie. me and/or Chico or Bluey or Zee or Zephyr or Fancy or Peanuts or Pinto or Rebel or Lady or Topper or . . .)

Or Dad in the family car. (ie. yikes)

Now, for many fields, the second option wouldn’t be a problem. Those fields are flat. (Saskatchewan flat. Google it…)

In our part of Alberta, the fields aren’t.

Flat, that is.

Maneuvering around them on a horse is simplicity in itself.

In a car? Less so.

And still, Dad did it. 

A suggestion of a Sunday drive inevitably ended up in one field or another, ‘just to have a look’.

I, in the back seat would white-knuckle the entire trip as the car went straight up. 

Or straight down. 

Or, the very worst. Straight sideways.

We kids would roll around in the back seat like dried peas (seatbelts were only something they used at Cape Canaveral).

Fortunately, the speeds were kept to a minimum as we crawled about the field. 

But that allowed for me to imagine tipping over backwards. Or forwards. Or sideways. 

In slow-motion.

Believe me, I would rather have been crawling.

Quite literally.

The smell of sage in my nostrils. The feel of the stiff, prairie grass under my palms. The threat of some messy accident far, far away in the ‘never-going-to-happen’ realm.

Sigh.

One good thing came of our little trips through the fields.

I mastered the art of breathing only in short gasps.

P.S. I get sick on boats. Something about the up-ing and down-ing and sideways-ing. Did I actually learn all about seasickness while living in the middle of the landlocked Alberta prairie?

Gone

Another 'Daddy' Story.
In rhyme, because I love it!
It's all true!“Great Grampa,” said the strong young chap,

You’ve lived a very long lifetime,

Please share with me just what to do,

To stay forever in my prime.”

The aged cowboy tipped his hat 

And gave the boy a level look,

“Don’t git your lariat in a knot. There

Ain’t no script and no guidebook.

But one thing I kin tell you, sure,

(Though first, the thought may not appeal!)

It has to do with eatin’, Son,

Each mornin’, gunpowder on your meal.”

The boy just nodded. That, he’d try.

Then every day, without debate,

He’d sprinkle just a pinch or so

Of sulfur, charcoal, and nitrate.

Yep. Every morn on his oatmeal.

It worked! He saw a hundred three,

And when he died, at that great age,

He left a large posterity.

He left his children. (Fourteen!) Yep.

And grandkids? Thirty. It is true.

And great-grands, forty-five of them.

And great-greats? five and twenty. Whew!

And there’s one more thing he left behind,

I’ll mention it and then I’ll quit.

The handsome crematorium?Now a twelve-foot, smoking pit.

Through Their Eyes

This is a poem from a year ago.I think it suits as well now as it did then! ;)
My sweet Pandy-girl. Who saves me every day.

Do you ever wonder what fur babies think?

When they’re around us, do they reckon we stink?

If we’re standing there, naked, and they stop and stare,

Are they wondering how we stay warm with no hair?

And rolling in things that we people condemn,

Do they snigger and smile cause there’s more just for them?

When we throw a ball for them, day after day,

Do they shake their heads wond’ring how it gets away?

When we go for a walk, are they just helping out,

Making sure that we’re healthy while moving about?

And watching us eat with those big, solemn eyes,

Do they simply ensure that no problems arise?

When we stare at a screen for the hours on end,

Are they thinking, “You’re rotting your brain, my dear friend!”

When they poke with the nose or lay down on the keys,

Are they saying that we need a break? (If you please!)

And when they refuse to respond when we call,

Merely pointing out what we would do, is banal?

Do they spend their lives trying to make us behave?

With the hope that so doing will Master’s life save?

Extending their lives with our caring and fuss…

Have you thought that they’re doing the same thing to us?

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

If Juggling turns your crank a bit,Come back next week, it’ll be a hit!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...

Pets (April 11) Today!

Juggling (April 18)

Brothers (April 25)

Babies (May 2)

Music (May 9)

Purple for Peace (May 16)

Turtles (May 23)

Memorial Day (May 30)

Yo-yo (June 6)

Roller Coaster (June 13)

World Refugee Day (June 20)

The Happy Birthday song (June 27)

My BFFs of the BBBs

Once again, It's my turn to host the Best of Boomer Bloggers! This week, this amazing group of writers takes us through the garden of delights that is customer service, things they wished they had said, April creativity, retail company scorecards, a lobster supper, Griffith Park, the Grammys, and imperfections.And the best part? I get to hang out with them!So go ahead. Give my BFFs of the BBBs a read!
Let's start with Carol Cassara...
Over on Carol Cassara's blog, she's talking about the decline in customer service. You have probably asked the same question she does in her post, How DidCustomer-centric Behavior Become Obsolete?


Then Laurie Stone... Have you ever wanted to tell someone something, but the words never came? Maybe you were embarrassed or got busy, but the moment didn’t arrive. And then it was too late. And you have regrets. This happened to Laurie Stone. Here are 6 things she wishes she had told Joyce, her mother-in-law.
 
And Jennifer Koshak

There's a new creativity challenge for April.  Jennifer, of Unfold and Begins, continues the fun with a focus on having fun with creativity. All of the creativity prompts this month focus on fun and play. But let's not forget about having fun withcreative self-care as well.

Then Rita R. Robison...

Consumers can use scorecards showing which retail and clothing companies are doing the best job eliminating PFAS – “forever chemicals” that contaminate air, water, and consumer products – from clothing. The scorecards were developed by the Natural Resources Defense Council, Fashion FWD, and the U.S. PIRG EducationFund.



And Meryl Baer...

This week Meryl Baer of Beach Boomer Bulletin enjoyed a lobster feast - cooked in her kitchen. This week’s post, Lobster - it’s Whats for Dinner - include pictures of the before and after cooked crustacean. 

 

Rebecca Olkowski...

Rebecca Olkowski with BabyBoomster.comhas another blog for local travel in Los Angeles. She recently wrote about all the things you can do in Griffith Park, which is the second-largest city park in California. If you plan on visiting LA in the future, please check it out.

And Tom Sightings...

Tom from Sightings Over Sixty is not particularly a fan of the Oscars, but he does like The Grammys. Tune in to New Faces, New Voices to hear a review of some of the latest music acts, and find out when and where you can see them next time.

 

And me!

On Mondays, Diane Stringam Tolley at On the Border hosts a 'Poetry Monday' challenge, based on a theme. This week, the topic was IMPERFECTION. Hmmm...what to talk about? In a world where so many are happy to point out the imperfections in others, Diane decided to point out her own. In rhyme...

Baby Names

'The Beanster'.
And a friend.We had a good friend, Peter.

Whose parents, when he was small, called him Petey-Pie.

He thought that was his name.

Petey-Pie.

On his first day of school, there was some heated discussion about what name he should respond to.

The teacher won.

And Peter, he became.

I thought Petey-Pie was a cute name.

I used it.

Often.

To the point where he regretted telling my husby and me the story.

Moving ahead . . .

We had given our first daughter a very nice name when she was born.

Caitlin Diane.

Very nice.

It suited her.

Until she started getting around.

Unlike most toddlers, who . . . toddle . . .

 . . . she hopped.

Everywhere she went.

My Husby began to call her ’Tigger-Pie’.

It suited her.

Thus, she became Caitlin ‘Tigger-Pie’ Tolley.

Until it was time to prepare her for her first day of school.

Remember Petey-Pie?

Those lessons would apply here.

We had been careful to make sure our little daughter knew her first name was ‘Caitlin’.

But we hadn’t realized that she now thought her middle name was ‘Tigger-Pie’.

Sigh.

For weeks, I tried to explain to her, “Caitlin Diane Tolley.”

To which she would respond.

Loudly.

“Not Diane! Tigger-Pie!”

Drat.

She finally figured it out.

Slowly.

Recently, I saw her little daughter, Erini (also know as ‘Rini-Bean’, or ‘Beanster’ for short) hopping across the room.

“Wow.” I said. “Beanster, you remind me of your mother!”

She laughed.

And then I realized what I had said.

Sigh.

Here we go again . . .

Talking to the Inanimate

 Ah…the three-year-olds’ view of the world…

 

Just arrived at Gramma’s house.

So much to see and do! 

There’s the dog to play with.

Toys.

Yummies to sample.

And games to play with cousins.

But first, the all-important shedding of the all-important winter coat.

(It IS spring in Northern Alberta!)

Small grunts that turn to larger grunts.

Then… “Mom! This zipper’s not talking to me!”

Angels

With all the horror in the world, I’m needing ‘angel’ stories right now.
There are angels around us.And they appear in the unlikeliest places.When they are most needed . . .Our family had fallen on hard times.It happens to everyone.It was our turn.My Husby had been out of work for some time.And it looked as though he would remain out of work for some time more.We were 'economizing'.We had given up everything that was not strictly necessary.Cable.Restaurants.Entertainment.Shopping.And we were living off our food storage.The last thing I wanted to give up . . . and indeed the last thing I did give up was our milk deliveries.The thought of living on skim milk powder from our storage was . . . how can I say this tactfully . . . horrifying.But we were about to do it.Sigh.Our milkman, John, was a very nice man.Friendly.Smart.Attentive.And no, none of our kids look like him.Just FYI.Moving on . . .I dreaded telling him that this next delivery would be our last.But our precious store of capital was rapidly dwindling, despite our best efforts.And the job had to be done.He arrived, carrying our order of milk, cheese and cream.And I told him, tearfully, that we couldn't afford deliveries any longer.He just grinned and handed me a note.It read: “Happy birthday . . . or something . . . for the next four months.”I stared at it.Then at John.What on earth did it mean?“Someone has paid for your milk deliveries for the next four months,” he said, finally.“What?”Okay, so quick, I'm not.“Someone has taken over paying your milk bill for the next four months.”“Who?”His grin widened. “I can't tell you.”“What?”Sigh. Some people are slow.“I can't tell you,” he repeated patiently. “Someone, who wishes to remain anonymous, has asked that your bill be forwarded to them for the next four months.”“It was you, wasn't it, John.”It was more a statement than a question.He laughed. “I can absolutely guarantee that it was not me,” he said. “Cross my heart.”I stared at him suspiciously for a few minutes.Then finally took the carton of dairy products from him and allowed him to carry on with his route.And that's when the tears started.Who knew that we were having such difficulties?And, more importantly, who cared enough to do this for us?Moving ahead four months . . .My Husby once more happily employed and a steady trickle of money flowing into the family coffers, I took my last free delivery of milk.And was happy to tell John that deliveries could continue.On our nickel.I never did find out who our Good Samaritan was.They had swooped in and helped.Just when they were needed.Then swooped out again.Faceless.Nameless.But definitely not heartless.To my Angel, and you know who you are . . . THANK YOU!
And now, my favourite song, by Alabama that just happens to cover this exact topic . . .

Library Crime

 

Library Crimes I rarely look inside my purse.It’s true.

I don’t shop. And when I do, it’s so rare, I need instructions about where to slide or insert the little card thingy.
I also love to read.All of this will become relevant . . .

When the kids were little, we went to the library.

A lot.

It builds character.

We had our routines. Which usually consisted of me hauling a great bag of books into the place.

And another great bag of books out of the place.

Why do so many of my life’s memories include me carting heavy loads?

Just wondering . . .

On many of our visits, several of the books I carried in and out were for me.

This is both good and bad. 

Because I read a lot. Which was good.

But I also brought whatever I was reading with me wherever I went in the house. And, because I’m unorganized, usually left it there. So, when the time came for our weekly library trip, I couldn’t yell at my kids for displaced books because I was the worst offender.

Sigh.

On this particular occasion, I had lost the book I was reading.

Really lost it.

No amount of hunting and cleaning and interrogating family members brought that little beauty to light.

Finally, in desperation, I decided I would simply have to purchase said book.

During our library visit, I talked to the girl at the counter, explained my dilemma, and paid for the stupid book.

Then gathered my kids and headed toward the exit and my great bag of books that had been slid through and was waiting for me beyond the turnstile.

As we neared the gate, a great electronic shriek filled the room. Definitely not a ‘library’ sound.

It startled all of us.

Including the people behind the desk.

“Ma’am?” one of the girls said. “Do you have an unscanned library book?”

I looked at my children, all bookless, and shook my head.

“May we examine your purse?”

Nodding, I handed it to her and she opened it.

And there, nestled among the used Kleenex, lipbalm and hairbrushes, was the lost book.

I am not making this up.

Both of us gaped at it like we had spotted a snake nesting in the warm confines of my handbag.

“That’s it!” I exclaimed unnecessarily.

She pulled it out and looked at me.

I don’t remember what happened after that. I think they gave me my money and kept the book. Everything was a blur.

I should tell you I have no idea of how that book got into my purse.
Ahem . . .I swear I’m not indifferent to rules. I understand how a library works—the whole borrowing and returning thing. I also know that when you wish to purchase a book, you go to a book store, pay your money, and then stuff your book into your bag.Knowing isn't doing, I guess.So, if you’re considering going to the local library to apply for a membership card and need a personal recommendation from a friend...?

Probably you should look elsewhere.P.S. I also have a book I checked out in 1967. The library closed For good before I could return it. I wonder what the fine on that would be?

Me

Me--exposed. I’m imperfect, yes, it’s true,

Though there are things I like to do…

I love to write, I’m sure you know,

‘Well crafted’ really makes me glow,

And reading’s great, my second thing,

Especially with a mystery’s zing,

I love to walk and swimming’s fun,

And sitting in the summer sun,

Playing with my grandkids, wow!

I’d do it anytime (or how),

Eating out with friends; yes, please,

From pancakes to Vietnamese,

Or meals at home with fam’ly, friends,

Where mealtime never, ever ends,

Movies with my Husby, yes!

Any ‘Marvel’, I confess,

I love to sit and reminisce,

And storytelling brings me bliss,

Lego-making; that I love,

It gives those sad ol’ blues the shove,

And puzzles (that love from my dad

Wherein we spent what time we had),

I like to cook, it gives me glee,

I like to clean, I’m OCD,

I’m not a shopper, don’t like sports,

I am a homebody of sorts,

But I love people in my life,

I try hard to lessen strife,

(A little kindness, Mama taught

Will help with someone’s pain a lot),

I laugh a bunch (perhaps too much),

But life is great with a light touch,

All these, I said I like to do,

Well. Or not. I leave to you.

But Husby made a sweet confession..

He loves my ‘Delightful Imperfections’!

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, something for us all...It's PETS! We're gonna have a ball!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...

Imperfection (April 4) Today!

Pets (April 11)

Juggling (April 18)

Brothers (April 25)

Babies (May 2)

Music (May 9)

Purple for Peace (May 16)

Turtles (May 23)

Memorial Day (May 30)

Yo-yo (June 6)

Roller Coaster (June 13)

World Refugee Day (June 20)

The Happy Birthday song (June 27)