A Letter to Harry

Dear Harry,

Happy Heavenly Birthday! Mr. Ginley is out taking a spin with with his brother, Michael, so I thought I'd take a moment to check in with you.

First and foremost, I want to say how happy I am that you and Ilene came together. In the beforetimes, I could never have imagined what a lifesaver she would become for me in these dark days. Naturally, you know how amazing she is, but I've been fortunate to experience it for myself. 

As for you, Mr. Shapiro, I know you're around. I feel it when I'm working on Wordle in the morning and suddenly the answer to the puzzle pops into my head. 

Your voice comes through loud and clear when I try to use a clever pun at work. I will ponder for about 30 seconds whether to leave it, sense your disapproval, and change it. I know you appreciated my cleverness, but not always in the line of duty. 

The other day, I told Ilene that I just knew you were rolling your eyes when I used the word "nomenclature" in a client meeting. You weren't big on 25-cent words. However, you did teach this pischer a bit of Yiddish now and again. In your honor, I'm including a pic of my coffee cup (below). 

I miss our group brainstorming sessions. I'm pretty sure you would not have been thrilled with the way AI has changed the creative landscape. Hopefully, the pendulum will swing back the other way. There's already a lot of talk of putting the human in AI. I think we should be putting the human back in human.

But I digress.

I hope you're doing well on the other side. Keep sharpening your word skills. Are there things in heaven that need named? (See what I did there?)

Someday, hopefully, we'll be able to brainstorm once more. 

Flower. Rain. Again.

Love,

Babs

Déjà Vu

I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach when his office told us we had to see the doctor in person to get the results of the most recent round of testing.

"We need to get you out of the house."

So, I had to hire the transport service, and off we went to the urologist's office in Fairview Hospital.

Despite the fact that it's located inside the hospital, and you'd think with all the high-tech whatnots modern hospitals brag about, his office would be ADA compliant. Nope. It's always a struggle wedging Mr. and his wheelchair into the small exam rooms. The only good thing was he didn't have to get up on the table this time. (Our last visit was not fun.)

The upshot is, the tube coming out from his right kidney (where the uber large stone was) is looking a little wonky, and the doctor isn't sure the fluid is draining properly. So Mr. has to go for a test where he's shot up with dye-colored fluid and they take pictures to see how the plumbing is (or isn't) working.

Based on the result of that test, he may need more surgery to clean out the pipe and get things moving again.

Needless to say, we were both pretty low when we came out of the doctor's office. 

I had taken the day off, so I took advantage of the opportunity to drop off more books at Lakewood Library. Then I headed to Heinen's, where I picked up a bag of Ruffles and a slab of tiramisu (aka "dinner.")

Yes, that's how we cope here at the Casa de Ginley, we eat our troubles away.

Otherwise, it was a pretty quiet week. More books have been boxed. We took another trip out last Sunday, and that went well, except for the gully-washer that hit right at the spot we stopped for lunch. We're hoping to venture out again today, weather permitting (or not). 

Thinking about y'all and imagining you living your best lives out there.

Don't let me down!

Boomer Angst

I've never liked it when people start labeling each other. On the other hand, I'm pretty proud of being a Boomer. 

With big sister, Denise, and unidentified nose picker.

My life began in analog and has become largely digital. From blurry baby pictures and television in black and white to crisp uber-pixelled photos and high-def TVs and computers. 

Ironically, my generation is saddled with the same stereotypes as we saddled our parents with. Although we took the internet from its infancy to adulthood, we are still depicted as bumbling idiots who can't use a cell phone or stream a video. 

Honestly, I think a lot of us just don't want to be bothered. After a lifetime of grinding for "the man," we just want to kick back and let our kids manage whatever new gewgaw tech BS comes down the pike. 

Meanwhile, youngsters look at our wrinkled faces dismissively, call us ma'am or sir, and pat us on the head.

I was in the park a few weeks ago, and a couple of 20-somethings were pushing ultra-caffeinated "energy drinks." They worked the picnic table next to mine, which was populated with 30-somethings who were clearly in their demographic. After pitching to them, the pair moved on with barely a sidelong glance in my direction.

Obviously, I was not the droid they were looking for. Perhaps if they'd been pitching Geritol...

But I digress.

I'm not sure where I'm headed with all of this. Maybe it's because as my life edges closer to the end and the beginning has become a distant memory, I'm seeing things a little differently. 

Inside, I feel like I'm 35. The mirror (and my achy-breaky body) disabuse me of this notion. I'm tired. I can't watch the news without a lump in my throat. Caring for Mr. Ginley post-stroke hurts my heart, not because he's a burden (as he says) but because I miss the beforetimes when he could read an entire book in a couple of days or stroll the park with me hand-in-hand. 

My pace has slowed to a crawl. I'm happy to watch other runners pass me by. Perhaps I'll just sit here on the bench and rest awhile.

And sip my Geritol.

Driving Mr. Ginley

Last weekend, Diane and John drove up, and with their help, we were able to maneuver Mr. Ginley into the car. After which, the pair of us took a drive through the Valley, then to McDonald's where we picked up lunch.

It was quite the adventure. Mr. made several calls from the car.

"Guess where I am?" he asked. He was giddy and excited to be out on the road.

"And you know what the best part is for you?" he inquired. "I can't see well enough to criticize your driving!"

Ah, there it is, the silver lining.

Getting out of the car proved easier than getting in. All in all, the experience was a success. Today, we'll see if the two of us can replicate the process. Mr. is lobbying to go to Culver's for cheeseburgers. Then maybe we can go sit in the park somewhere and partake.

A little taste of the beforetimes?

Otherwise, it's been a pretty quiet week. 

Mr. has been sorting through LOTS of books, and now there are about a dozen boxes sitting in our living room that need to be schlepped out.

Good thing it's a three day weekend!

P.S. Mr. wanted me to mention that today is our 14,000th day of marriage. What is the appropriate gift for such a milestone? Cheeseburgers for lunch, you say?

Keeping Our Cool

It's been a weird week.

I decided last Sunday that it was time to replace the refrigerator. I'd been smelling coolant(?) in the kitchen, plus it had been dripping water inside the fridge for some time (years?). Rather than wait until it croaked altogether, I decided to do the deed and retire old Betsy.

I was trying to remember when we'd purchased her. We keep a file of stuff we've bought over the years, and sure enough, there was the manual along with the receipt for our Frigidaire. The purchase date? July 4, 2003. From the long-defunct H.H. Gregg. Yep, we got 23 years out of the old girl. It was time.

The new Frigidaire was due to arrive on Tuesday. I thought this was a good date, until a meeting showed up on my work calendar. I crossed my fingers and hoped the delivery would be before or after the meeting. I breathed a shaky sigh of relief when the delivery time was set for 12:30-4:30. The meeting was scheduled to end before noon. I mean, what are the odds that the delivery would be early? 

Well, the odds have never been in my favor, and sure enough, 15 minutes into the meeting I got a call from the delivery driver saying they would be there in 15 minutes. So, I turned off the camera and microphone on my computer and listened in while I shoved the food from our refrigerator and freezer into the coolers I had waiting. Then continued to listen in while I waited for the truck to show up. 

Fortunately, I didn't miss my cue, and was able to participate in the meeting when I needed to, but I was a nervous wreck by the time things wrapped up.

The new model is verrrrry quiet. But the food is cold and the frozen stuff is frozen, so it's all good. I suspect old Betsy hadn't been working efficiently for some time, but then, neither am I these days, so I felt a certain sadness when they wheeled her out and brought her replacement in. And yes, we got another Frigidaire. If it lasts anywhere near as long as old Betsy, I'll be happy.

As per our tradition, Mr. Ginley chose the magnets that now adorn the new model. I haven't named her yet. Naming things was my thing at my last job. Jewelry collections, plush giveaways, parking lot aisles. (Who can forget "Tourmaline Trail"?) So naming our fridge shouldn't be a big deal.

Our next project is getting the gutters cleaned out. I'll be working on contacting a contractor this week.

Meanwhile, last evening, we settled in to watch a bit of television and realized the remote was missing. We spent well over an hour looking for it, Mr. Ginley insisting he'd handed it to me last, me insisting it must be him. I even went to the garbage bin to make sure I didn't accidentally toss it in there. Finally, I admitted defeat, and ordered a new one online.

"Now we'll find I," I predicted.

As I was helping Mr. to bed, my prediction came true. 

You gotta laugh, right? And we did.

All Sorts

It's occurred to me lately that our home of 33 years has become a time capsule. 

Decades of memories in books, papers, pamphlets, and tchotchkes. Mr. Ginley has been hard at work sorting the goodies, relegating some to the trash bin or resale box. Others are going into a bin for Joe. The items that Mr.'s not ready to part with have been re-boxed and will be stored until the next purge.

In the meantime, I'm strolling along with him down Memory Lane. At the end of each day, there's a pile of "Barb's stuff" that I work through. Business cards from previous jobs. Greeting cards from my parents. Family pictures of life events, including the one that was taken for our church directory back in the day. 

Also, there have been several items in the category of "what is this and why did we save it?" There's always that fear that while you have no idea, as soon as you toss it out, you're going to need it.

Ah, well.

It was a quiet week otherwise. I had breakfast with my son and granddaughter at Edgewater, which was fun. And Mr. and I sat out on the porch for a bit, although the days we chose were pretty steamy, so we didn't sit out there for long. But I was able to snap the photo above. 

Do you like the "No Soliciting" sign behind him? We thought it was a nice touch. 

To be clear, Mr. says he's not for sale.

I told him we shouldn't be too hasty. 

The Old Folks at Home

"The doctor didn't sign the script," the lady at the registration desk said. "And we need a fax number to fax the results."

No idea what's on his head. From the beforetimes

So much for drawing blood before Mr. Ginley's ultrasound last Monday. We were trying to combine trips so that I wouldn't have to have the transport service schlep him more than once.

Oh well.

From there, we went to the radiology department. I went in with him and helped him get on and off the bed. (He tweaked his back, and it was sore for a few days, but it's getting better.) We're still waiting for the test results. I told Mr. that they've put him through so many scans over the past months, I'm thinking this is just to establish a baseline, post-kidney stone, going forward.

Later that same day, Dan came to pay a visit and talk about financial planning and wills and such. He and Mr. had a nice discussion about things, and Mr. was a happy camper. We've always liked Dan (we try not to call him "Danny" these days), who went to school and played baseball with our son. 

The rest of the week passed quietly. We're perfecting our technique for getting Mr. into and out of "The Cloud," his uber-comfortable easy chair. More books and papers have been culled, warranting additional trips to Savers, the library, and Half-Price Books.

It's hard to believe we're halfway through August and kids are getting ready to head back to school. Time is such a weird construct these days. Each day that passes without incident elicits a big sigh at bedtime and a speedy drop off to dreamland (where weird things happen that I can't remember the next morning, thankfully).

And, as Sonny and Cher said, "The Beat Goes On."

"Did you know that they have a place for cats to go to school?" Mr. inquired this morning. 

"It's called "Kittie-garden."

And so it goes.