Hate is a Terrible Thing to Waste

"...hate you for what you have done to society, you boomers have destroyed society with your feminism, your liberalism, your pro-homosexuality, your multiculturalism, etc etc etc. In short, you baby boomers ruined America. Can't you just hurry up and ..... already, so that we young people can start fixing the mess that YOUR generation created?"

                                                                                                --Anonymous

The above comment was left on my blog last August in response to a cartoon character that I had drawn the day before. I didn't print his entire rant and I left some words out because my grand daughter may read this someday, and I don't want her to know that somebody out there wants harm done to her nana. This person, full of intolerance and hate for anything different than his own narrow-minded view of how the world should behave to please him, went off over a silly little cartoon about bugs bugging the daylight out of my grand daughter's precious nana.

Bugging Daylight Outta 

Precious Nana

I must admit I was finger-tied. That's like tongue-tied but I was typing with my fingers at the time.  I wanted to respond but what do you say to someone who hates you and wants you "Gone Granny" because you drew a cartoon of bugs bugging an old lady, which in turn contributed to the ruination of America.

Once I got my fingers to work again, I responded to Mr. Anonymous and I took total responsibility (actually, I did include a few other baby boomers with me; I couldn't do this much damage to society without a little help from my friends.) His concerns were my concerns, I told him, especially the etc etc etc. I lose sleep over those dang things. Etceteras concern me a lot. Have you ever noticed how they have to have the last word, and who are they, really? They make an effort to fit in, yet they hide behind vague notions of things. Yes, they are similar but don't be fooled; they are not the same. They're different and I don't like etceteras that are different. In fact, I hate them and I think they should all be eliminated. The sooner etceteras are gone, the sooner we old people can start fixing the mess they created.

Hate is a terrible thing to waste, but do it anyway. You'll feel so much better for so many reasons, like etc etc etc.

One Rambling Aging Baby Boomer's Perspective

In the early morning hours of the first day of January, ten years into the twenty-first century, I began writing stories in a little black journal for those in my family who are on the same life path as I but trailing far behind me. The intent of this journal was to share my experiences, along with life lessons I'd learned along the way, and the wisdom I'd gained while traveling down that sometimes-treacherous road years ahead of them.  My hope was to save my loved ones from the mistakes I had made. How could they possibly navigate their way through life without a how-to guidebook?

With a cup of coffee in my left hand, a pen in my right, I starred at the blank page in front of me and imagined a time in the distant future, after I'm gone, when a member of my family would discover my little black journal. "Hey everyone, come quickly! Look what I found," would be the call heard from the attic where an antique chest covered in decades of dust had just been opened and inside sat my little black journal. Later that evening, when my family was finally done sorting through one hundred and twelve boxes of pictures, memorabilia, and miscellany, they would all gather around the fireplace, pick up my journal and take turns reading my stories.

At noon my hand began to shake uncontrollably and then cramp. And that was the hand that was holding the coffee cup. My pen hand was fine and eager to write more, but after six hours I had completed only two paragraphs. With cross outs and revisions there was only one sentence left that was to my liking. I imagined a time in the future, after I'm gone, when my family would gather at my house to meet with a real estate agent, make hurried decisions about which black bag they should put my things: GOODWILL, TRASH or RECYCLE, and then go back to their busy lives.

At 12:01 p.m. I threw my little black journal in the trash, opened my computer and began typing a blog...a whimsical blog that refuses to speak of lessons learned or wisdom earned or be a guidebook or take me seriously; a rambling blog that tells unauthorized stories about me that some readers feel are too raw, revealing, and unflattering; a tenacious blog that continues to tell my stories after five years and imagines a time in the future, after I'm gone, when my family may want to read them; an honest blog that, under all that whimsy, reveals the truth about life. The truth, that is, from one rambling aging baby boomer's perspective.

A Christmas Visit with Grandma

 

 

 

                                                                           Illustration copyrighted by Carol Mayer 12/20/14

Christmas, a Time of Joy and Happiness

Christmas, a time of joy and happiness.

Christmas

an annual festival commemorating the birth

 of Jesus Christ, observed generally on December 25 .

                                                  --Google 
 

I like that definition of Christmas. A day set aside to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. It says nothing about shopping til ya drop, getting trampled at the entrance to Walmart, exceeding credit card limits, and buying presents for everyone on your contact list (presents that show up six months later at their yard sales).

Time

a measure in which events can be ordered from the
past through the present into the future and the
measure of durations of events and the intervals
between them. Or it can be a magazine.
                                               --Google

From the past--a far, far away wonderful, magical place when young Jason and his sisters were innocent, naive, and enchanted Santa believers)--through to the present (when they are not), my measuring time stick indicates the extended celebration of Christmas takes up way, way too much time, and as I age the intervals between Christmases gets shorter, which means the durations are longer.

Joy

a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.

                                      --Google

Uh...no.

It's not that I don't want to feel joy from the first sign of Christmas trees showing up in Lowes garden center in late August or when I hear I'll be Home for Christmas on my shop's radio in September. It's not that I don't want to feel happiness when I see commercials on television that show functional families standing around a piano singing Christmas Carols or sharing a meal together. It's not that I don't want to feel great pleasure when I think about how much I love and miss my family--a family that is spread out across the country. It's not that I don't want to feel great joy when eating Christmas breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Denny's because that's Tom's 96-year-old mother's favorite restaurant. It's not that I don't want to marinate in the "life is wonderful" sentimental emotions that Christmas time is supposed to elicit.  I do. No, really I do. Well, maybe I would change one thing. This Christmas could we pulllleeezzee eat at Huddle House?

Dirty Little Leaking Secret

Marianne does it when she walks by bottled water at the grocery store. Ellen says the sound of running water causes her to do it, and Shirley does it when she touches water, especially when it's warm. I do it, too, but not when I see, hear or touch water.  For me, it's about proximity, i.e. distance to the toilet. The closer I get to that white porcelain bowl, the more desperately urgent the urge becomes. As soon as I can see the john, I have five seconds to close and lock the bathroom door, WAIT! unbuckle my belt, NOT NOW! unzip and pull my pants down, HOLD ON! and sit. TOO LATE!

Incontinence, leakage, peeing in your pants, not having complete control of your bladder used to be considered one of those embarrassing personal secrets that you wanted no one to know about. Discussing malfunctioning body parts was considered bad form and it just wasn't done.

Well, that was then and this is now. The world has been turned upside down (haven't you noticed?) and things are not as they used to be. We live in a reality world now where truth rings supreme. No, really it does.  No more hiding in the lonely shadows of our dirty little leaking secret. One by one, we can all step forward into the spotlight and tell our truths. "My name is Marianne and I leak." "Hi there, I'm Ellen and I am a leaker." "I'm Shirley and I too am a leaker." "My name is Carol Louise and I'm here to support my friends who pee their pants."

Okay, I'm not ready to go public just yet. I'm telling you but I know you can keep a secret. I'm going to wait until more leakers expose themselves. Wait! This just in from Good Morning America.

BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING OVERNIGHT! BREAKING NOW!  Kris Jenner (leading actress and matriarch extraordinaire of The Kardasians Show) pees her pants.

Okay, that's encouraging. A famous celebrity exposes her incontinence and dirty underwear on television for millions to see and for no monetary gain or fame or to satisfy an insatiable appetite for attention. No, really. She just wants to show support for her fellow leakers.  That's so altruistic of her, but I'm still not ready to come out of the bathroom.

BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING OVERNIGHT! BREAKING NOW! The Today Show is reporting that Lisa Rinna (voluptuous lip model and former Dancing With the Stars alumni)  is wearing Depends at a Hollywood red carpet event. The caption under this breaking news reads "Making Incontinence Sexy." Her husband runs his finger across her behind and says "I can't feel a thing," to which Lisa responds by seductively running her tongue across her big wet lips and giving him a provocative grin, "I know, I know. Check out the boo-tay."

Um.....another incontinent celebrity comes forward. It's tempting but I'm still not ready to get up off this toilet, step forward and announce to the world that I too am a lea...

What? Now? Someone is on the phone for me? Tell them I'm in the bathroom, kinda busy right now writing this blog.

Tiger who? Woods? He thinks I'm what? He wants me to do what?

Okay, everything I said above about my leaking secret...never mind.

My Favorite Family Photos

The following are some of my favorite family photos.

My mother's 90th birthday party. 

(On my copy of this picture I have written captions for each

person. For example, "I'm so pretty, oh so pretty," and, "I could

be home right now watching reruns of The Bachelor,")

At the annual gun club meeting, the ladies decided, three to

two, to stop hunting buffalo. Lorene (left) was the swing vote.

Lynnette was elated when her mother discovered 

she had enough material to make her a dress, too.

Louise couldn't decide--star or angel or star or angel or star or angel

or star or angel--so Orville made the decision for her: STAR DAMMIT!

I asked for one thing for Christmas, Mom.
One thing. An accordion. That's all I asked for.
Not a stupid white blanket. I'll stand here
with it on for your stupid picture but I'm
not gonna smile. No! I will not shush.

All Things Big and Small

Oprah, my life coach and spiritual guide for all things big and small that matter on earth and beyond, told me once that by the time I reach the age of fifty, I should 1) be mentally and emotionally stable, 2) have eliminated negative baggage, 3) know who I am, 4) like who I am, 5) be gentle with myself, 6) not sweat the small stuff, and 7) I forgot the seventh thing. Bleep my bleepin' memory;  I bleepin' hate my bleepin' self. 

It wasn't long after my relationship with Oprah began when she introduced me to Dr. Oz, my medical advisor for all bodily malfunctions big and small that matter on earth and beyond. This genius knows everything about how my body works, and he said that by the time I reach sixty I should 1) stop having children, 2) fart at least fourteen times a day, 3) stop kissing my dog's butt, 4) lick a salt block twice a day, and 5) eat green acai berry coffee beans to bust my fat apps, or something like that. Oh, I don't know now. Sixty was a long time ago and my memory's not so good anymore.

It was Oprah who guided me through the pre, peri, actual, and post menopausal mental anguish that I didn't suffer but could have. My friends did so I was able to pass on to them Oprah's immortal words of wisdom during their darkest moments like 1) keep your feet on the ground, girlfriend; just wear nice shoes, 2) think of yourself as a queen; I do, 3) imagine Heaven as one big baked potato just sittin' there with butter and sour cream waiting for ya, 4) don't think of yourself as a deprived ghetto girl; that's my gig, and, and, and... . Oh, shoot! I forgot the fifth thing but I'm feeling so good right now just thinking about shoes, Heaven, and that baked potato.

Did I mention how amazing my doctor is? He's a wizard when it comes to the care and maintenance of the human body. He has all the answers to every question, and on the rare occasion when he's stumped, there's always Google. But his expertise doesn't stop with physiology. Dr. Oz knows all about psychology, spiritualism, and marketing as well. Have a phobia for germs? Call the automated hotline 1-888-555-DROZ. Answer: Lick a toilet seat. Didn't think it would be that simple, did you? I told you he was amazing. Want to get in touch with dearly departed Aunt Mable? That's an easy one for the doc, too. #TALKINGDEAD. Is there anything this miracle man can't do? Well, there is one thing: he can't market any products even though he's an expert in the field of selling things.  Dr. Oz says he doesn't market products and I believe him. Why would he lie, even under oath before the Senate Subcommitte on Consumer Protection leading an investigation into deceptive marketing practices that raise health and safety concerns? Claire McCaskill, chairwoman of the Senate Committee said, "I don't get why you need to say this stuff when you know it's not true. When you have this amazing megaphone, why should you cheapen your show? ... With power comes a great deal of responsibility." Well, that was not very nice, Claire. Now look what you've gone and done; you've hurt the doctor's feelings. Are those tears?

Since it was Oprah who first introduced me to Dr. Oz, I thought maybe she could help him not sweat this small thing--okay, it's a big thing but Oprah can fix anything, and if she is stumped, there's always Google.

WHERE'S OPRAH? DR. OZ NEEDS HER.

What? Google told you she's where? Because of a nervous what? Excuse me, it must be my hearing, but I just thought you said Oprah, my life coach and spiritual guide for all things big and small in the world and beyond, had a nervous breakdown.

Uh...okay. About everything I just said above...never mind.