"The Monkees" minus One.

Davy Jones died today at the age of 66 of an apparent heart attack.  Davy, former lead singer of "The Monkees" the popular, fun, and make that cute group that had their own television show in the 1960's, I never missed an episode.   I loved that show and I loved that band.  There was Micky, Peter, Michael and of course Davy.   All of my girlfriends loved Davy, but I thought he was too short for me.  I was a tall nine year old girl at the time.  He was short, which Davy joked about often, but to his advantage as he later became a well known horse jockey.  
  
 My secret crush was always on Micky.  Micky Dolenz with his curly then straight brown hair, and his quirky laugh, he was my crush, so much so that I wanted to name my first male offspring Micky.  I loved "The Monkees"  I memorized all their songs and dreamed of being a guest on their show.   At nine years old,  I just knew I was going to be a famous actress when I grew up and then I would marry Micky and I would have lots of little Mickys running around. 

   I always made my Mom promise to call me inside from playing outside so I could be the first one in front of the television to turn the channel to "The Monkees".  There was only one television in the entire house back in the sixties.  The first person in front of the TV got dibs on the channel.  Pretty remarkable when there were 6 people living in that house, but my chances were good if I was the first one in the living room.  
Being nine years old didn't hurt either, my plea was that I had to go to bed before my older brother and sister so I should get first pick.  It worked as long as my dad wasn't sitting down yet.  My dad was usually building or repairing something out in the garage and would come inside close to 9 p.m. but as soon as he came in and sat down, his first question was, "Is there a movie on tonight?"  Ug-g he loved war movies.  I hated war movies, I loved "The Monkees." 

I'M "FROZING"

Went to the park to take the 3 dogs for a walk tonight at 7:30 p.m., it was 33 degrees Fahrenheit  outside.  Getting back into the car with my fingers so cold they were numb, I told Mr. B. "I am so cold, my fingers hurt, I'm frozing."  Mr. B. replied, "You're frozing?"  "Is that a state between freezing and frozen?"  I replied, "I am SO cold I can't enunciate my words."  

   I started thinking, I like that word, it's a good in between word for not quite frozen but still freezing cold.  Frozing sounds like a sporting word, it sounds like an athletic event. " Let's go frozing in the wintertime, or have you ever gone frozing?"  It could be a winter event or something a person could only do when in the colder climate states-you know it would give the southern states some competition for tourism in the colder months.  People would come in droves to the northern states to go frozing.  We could invent a new dessert, called 'The Frozing' to be sold at Dairy Queen only.  Wow, tourism would boom.  I could be famous, just think-Kim50 started the popular winter sport of frozing, then invented the tasty frozing dessert which comes in four different flavors!  Try a chocolate frozing, vanilla ice frozing, strawberry frozing, or our most popular frozing cafe!

Would the Educated Person Please Step Forward?

Whitney Houston died the night before the 54th Grammy Awards in Hollywood, February 11th.  She was 48.  Autopsy reports are not  confirmed but speculation is that drugs and/or alcohol  played a part.  Television is reporting nonstop, the internet, and on the radio the news and updated reports are everywhere.  Her daughter is devastated.  It is very sad to say the least, but I'm having a hard time with this.  Why are there so many celebs doing the interviews expressing their shock and acting so surprised?  Whitney was an addict, that was well known.  She had been abusing for years, and the drug she was addicted to is difficult to completely recover from, let alone the use of prescription drugs along with her other cache.    What is the surprise here?  What are these celebs with their incredible talent doing?  Do these rich, sheltered people not get the education from the pharmacist each time they pick up their prescription?  Probably not because they send their assistant to the store to pick it up.                                                                               I used to work in a pharmacy and it was standard procedure for the pharmacist to speak to each patient about their medication regarding the dosage, side effects, and contraindications.  If it's illegal drugs, come on--that's why they're illegal and there is tons of info on the web and TV to educate. 

 Maybe these celebs should be hiring a nurse in their slew of staff they carry around with them.  The nurse would hold onto all medications and not release any pills until the prescribed time, and not release anything if there has been alcohol or another drug involved.  Are these celebs so disillusioned or in so much pain, grief and hardship that they are unable to figure out how much to take, what to take, and when to take whatever?  Maybe they shouldn't be hiring all these yes people.  Get someone on your staff that is going to tell it like it really is.  

  Money seems to be the influence for everyone involved, from the pharmaceutical companies making billions and billions off the weak, to the doctors making money from prescribing, to the immediate staff around the celeb that gets paid to keep their mouth shut.   Geez, hasn't there been enough examples-meaning deaths-lately of the side effects from drugs, mainly respiratory failure resulting from overdosing?  Don't they read the newspapers?  A few weeks ago it was Demi Moore.  
    
  Are their lives so hard and so difficult that they need to zone out?  What is wrong with these celebs?  I sit here in my Midwest boring life and have to wonder. Oh yeah, I remember, a hard life is having to work 50 hours a week to bring home a measly paycheck in a manual labor job.  Coming home so sore and stiff that you can hardly move and having to make something for dinner because you have three small children needing to eat and depending on you.  Going to bed late at night after having to do the housework, homework, and laundry so you are prepared to get up at 6 a.m. the next day and start all over again. 

  What is it like having all that money?   Flying first class, having people clean your home, raise your children, do your gardening and cooking, and drive you wherever your fancy so desires at whatever time you desire?  You don't have to worry about the car breaking down, and if it does you get it repaired - easily, quickly, and not having to worry about paying the mechanic. 

Snow Stopped Kitchen Reno

This past Saturday, Feb. 11th was going to be our kitchen cabinet delivery day, finish the wiring day, and install the bead board ceiling.  None of that happened.  It started snowing Friday night, only calling for a few inches.  Saturday morning was a different story.  The two to three inches turned into 5 to 6 inches and it was only 14 degrees Fahrenheit outside.  Brr-rr-rr.  The blowing north winds created snow drifting onto the roads, sidewalks, and driveways.  Everyone that was coming over to help cancelled because of the weather and snowy, icy roads.  So the kitchenless kitchen remains the same until next weekend.  Another week minus the kitchen sink.  Another week of takeout food and paper plates.
Someday. Someday soon I hope.

FORTITUDE

I was reading an article today about an actress who exhibited fortitude when tackling her obstacles.  Hm-mm, fortitude.  Now there's a word you don't hear often.  Synonyms for fortitude are boldness, braveness, courage, determination, fearlessness, nerve, perseverance.  Spirit, spunk, and stamina.  Okay then, I guess I can say that Cosmo Crispin used fortitude in refusing his bath today.  I took my big, white standard poodle to the car wash today for the sole purpose of giving him a bath.  No, I would never put him in a car wash, but the new feature here was an enclosed 10'x10' doggy wash building.  Five dollars will give you 8 minutes of wash time. 

 There is a ramp leading up to a stainless steel sink that is raised up off the floor so washing your pet will mean no bending over, save your back.  The choices for dog washing are-you can set it for a puppy shampoo, an oatmeal shampoo, or a skunk remover shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse, then a blow dry.  I chose the oatmeal shampoo.  Problem was Cosmo Crispin refused to go up the ramp, a simple short walk up to the sink.  He stood his ground with fortitude.   

  How do you move a 110 pound dog that has the strength oh, I mean fortitude to not walk up that ramp??  It was a battle.  He began barking, sassing me loudly.  I got nervous and looked out the window thinking someone will come over here to find out what all this noise is about.  Rosco-the seven pound morkie was in the building too, and he was going to let me know it.  His barking was right in line with Cosmo's barking.  I tugged on Cosmo's leather leash and with my alpha voice said, "Come."  Normally, that would have been all Cosmo needed.  He is a very smart and obedient dog.  Cosmo responded with loud barking, followed by Rosco and his little bark.  After five minutes of trying to get him up on the ramp, thinking that if he placed his two front feet on the ramp I could push him up, Cosmo was having none of it.  Cosmo and his fortitude coupled with his loud, loud barking made me stop for a minute.  It was getting really smelly in there.  Cosmo was telling me off and farting with his fortitude and barks.  

  I had an idea, I bought 3 plain doughnut holes for his after bath treat.  Cosmo is on steroids and loves to eat.  Everything is about food with this dog.  I ran to the car and brought in one doughnut hole in my pocket.  I showed Cosmo, he was motivated.  Now is my chance.  I showed him the doughnut, he opened his mouth, then I moved it over the sink.  Cosmo would surely go up the ramp to get the doughnut right?  Nope.  He barked and barked and farted.  I gave a piece of doughnut to Rosco to make Cosmo jealous.  I said, "Do you want some?"  Oh yeah, he did.  I held the doughnut over the sink again and gave the command, "Come."  Cosmo barked and backed up toward the door continuing to bark.  "Cosmo watch Rosco", I said as I picked up Rosco and placed him in the sink then gave him a piece of the doughnut.  Rosco started shaking uncontrollably, that's what little dogs do when they are afraid, but he ate the piece of doughnut.  It didn't convince the Cosmo though.  "Come on Cosmo, just go, get up the ramp, why are you doing this?"   "You have been getting in sinks and bathtubs for 11 years without any problem."  "Come up here if you want the treat." 

Well, the Cosmo with his fortitude, stinky farts, and loud barks won.  We left.  Cosmo didn't get a bath, and did not get his doughnut. I left the doggie wash with a dirty poodle, fortitude intact.   

Follow THE YELLOW BRICK HOUSE

My Big Red Brick House

One of the newest, biggest, and most difficult hurdle in my 54th (I know it's technically the 55th year of my life, but I  will be experiencing the age of 54 all of 2012) year of my life is the yellow brick house.  We sold our beautiful 3500 sq. ft. home in September 2011 and moved into a 1700 sq. ft. home in November 2011.  Mr. B. decided it was time to downsize.  Hence, The Yellow Brick House, which is actually 1795 sq. feet-not that 95 extra really helps.  Not much at all.  You see my big red house as I affectionately called it, had a huge finished basement with extra closets.  I had 3 spare bedrooms - all with extra closet space. I had big hallway closets, I had a large laundry room, I had two, count that as 2 big walk-in master bedroom closets.  My master bath was so big you could have had a tennis match in it.  I had a 3 car garage plus a huge walk-in attic above the garage all for extra storage.  This wasn't for extra storage, but just to make it sound even better and make me feel even worse, there was also a huge in-ground salt water pool. 

My past saltwater in-ground swimming pool.

 This yellow brick house has 3 tiny bedrooms with tiny, tiny closets.  My clothes alone will not fit in my bedroom closet but now Mr. B. and I have to share.  Clothes and shoes are so crammed in there that I have warned everyone that if there is an event I need to go to they better give me at least 4 hours notice.  I need to dig, pull apart, and search with flashlights for that certain sweater.  I do not have a master bath, instead in the yellow brick house, I have a narrow hallway bathroom.  It is so narrow that every time I turn around too fast I bang into the walls.  I have bruises all over my arms and  my elbows especially seem to keep hitting the walls in there.  I have a one car garage, my husband insists it's a two car but I can tell you from experience that with one small car inside there is not enough room for the garbage cans-which ended up outside.  My exercise equipment which had it's own room at the red brick house is now piled up one on top of the other in the garage.  Totally unusable. 

I'm An Avid Obituary Reader

My 54th birthday was in January, last month.  It took this long to get the nerve to start this blog.  I kept stalling, putting it off, procrastinating- something I'm really good at.  Around day 10 of putting this blog off, I started  thinking about an obituary I had read.  It got me thinking that everyone's life is important, and everyone has a story to tell.     

    I dreaded turning 50.  I feared turning 51.  I was afraid of turning 52.  I was depressed about turning 53.   So this year when I turned 54 instead of dreading it, fearing it, crying about it, I decided to embrace it.  I am thrilled to be here--I made it to 54.  Wow!   That's quite remarkable in my family.  Being female and in your fifties is a scary thing when cancer seems to be the enemy we're fighting more than aging.  My mother died of pancreatic cancer at age 58 and my sister died of breast cancer at age 55.  They lost their fight, and everyone lost two beautiful, gentle souls.   So here I am, and every year in this decade is a milestone.  

This really isn't my 54th year, technically this is my 55th year.  Reminds me of the obituaries in the paper stating, "Mrs. so-and-so passed away unexpectedly in her 84th year, she was 83."  Interestingly, reading newspaper obituaries from the 1850's, the obituary would report, "Mr. so-and-so died very suddenly in the 44th year of his age."  It took me a quick second to figure out the actual age of the person when I  read these obituaries.  

          I became a loyal and daily death notice reader about twelve years ago for the simple fact that I owned and operated a flower shop.  A large part of our business came from funerals. At the flower shop we would get our morning paper delivered and the first page we all flipped to was the obituary section.   Reading this section would give us the heads up on the recently deceased, their name, age, which funeral home, the planned arrangements, and the family members that may be in that day or calling over the phone to make flower arrangements. 

Fast forward to recent days of being a nurse on the med/surg and oncology floor and again the obits (nursing slang for obituary) are the first section I flip to because of my concern for my past and recent patients.  I remember one patient in particular we had discharged with a clean bill of health, five weeks later their name appeared in that section.  What a shock, you take it so personal when you have participated in the care of that person.  It's sad.  All the nurses I worked with had a certain order to reading the newspaper.  First stop was the obituary section, next was the weather, then to local news and accidents reported.   Now it's become a habit reading the obituaries. It's a daily thing, I don't know why.  I am not in a nursing position anymore, and I no longer own a flower shop.   I have to admit I read the ages first before I even read the names.  When I see an age the same as mine I quickly read the name.  I want to know is it someone I went to school with, someone I worked with, an old neighbor, why and how did this person die?  

       I read an obituary when I worked in the flower shop that was quite evident that the woman that had just passed had written it.  This obituary was written in the first person by a local woman that died in her 87th year.   She went into great detail about the life she lived and what a life she had had.  It was the longest obituary that I have ever read.  Written in her own words she wrote in great detail about  her charming, but self-sacrificing life.  She told of the children that she bore, their ages, where they now lived and who called and who did not.   Her words were cutting.  She wrote of the daughter and son who "never bothers to call, write or attempts to check on their mother." She let the readers all know what a great knitter she was, and how fantastic she looked in her graduation pictures.  She told of a happy, busy life as a farmer's wife with four children that had turned into a lonely existence since her beloved husband had passed 12 years earlier.  She did not refrain from the sarcastic remarks regarding two of her children and their disloyal ways.  I laughed when I first read the death notice but I got to thinking that this sweet, frail woman who had been a wife, mother, and grandmother died a lonely, rejected woman.  Or was she?  With pen in hand, she made her life legitimate, making herself feel good about her life, and the sacrifices she made letting others know it was not a wasted life.