Hold Your Breath And Hope for The best

I felt pretty good when I woke that morning. No anxiousness or trepidation in regards to what I knew lie ahead of me. I showered and got dressed in normal fashion, took my morning vitamins and then headed out the door.

The drive to my destination was a short one, so there was no real lapse in time to get myself worked-up. But that would all change once I got inside and I knew it; but just how much it would change was yet to be known.

I announced my name and date of birth, answered a few other pertinent questions, and then they buzzed me back thru the locked doors.

I walked the halls and made a turn to the all-too-familiar right and there it was – the dreaded dungeon.

The first thing I saw was my “regular girl” was not there. My heart began to beat a little faster and not in a good way. She’s my girl, she’s the one. She’s figured out all the in’s and out’s and gets it right almost every single time, the first time.

She’s “THE BLOOD TAKER”. Phlebotomist for all you intellectuals out there. But for me she’s the “stick lady”, the “pain lady”, but mostly my girl is the best needle-sticker in that joint, and she wasn’t there.

I sat down knowing this wasn’t about to go down as I had envisioned. My veins are deep, they hide, and they roll. The person doing the sticking not only has to try and find them, but they have to try and project where they are going once that needle breaks the surface of my skin.

As my “substitute-sticker” is attempting to look for a vein, to no surprise it turns out to be all in vain (pun intended) because she can’t find one. I could see the sweat start to form around her upper lip, mostly because I was jabbering 90 miles an hour, giving instructional advice, and regaling her horrid stories of sticks-gone-bad from the past.

For those of you who can literally feel my pain, you know what I mean, 3 sticks in one arm, a couple in the other, then finally they give-up and try the dreaded top-of-the-hand stick. It’s usually a sure-fire stick and I get that, but there’s no fat in the top of your hand – so pleasant - it is not.

And as you ladies know, they take a LOT of blood draws during pregnancies and man alive was that ever horrible. Once, they actually debated about going in on the top of my foot to try and find a usable vein. IT DID NOT HAPPEN.

They sent me across the street to the hospital – who by the way – have zero limitation counts on how many times they can stick, unlike a doctor’s office - and they got it on the first try! In the arm!

The final conclusion on this particular day was she let me know she saw NOTHING, could feel NOTHING, so the top of the hand it was to be. And the first stick was a winner! WHEW!

Staying healthy is tough/sometimes painful work!

Let the Games Begin!

For at least a couple of weeks now, its’s all I’ve heard about. Everybody’s spirits are higher, a little pep has been added to their step, and the world seems to be a little brighter.

Football is back. Well, preseason anyway. But these gamers don’t care, they’d watch Pee Wee football if someone would just televise it.

Have you ever really watched a football fan on the very last day of the regular season, the last game that will be played before going into the playoff’s which will lead to the grand finale of the Super Bowl?

That last day, you can already see the decline. Their bodies begin to lose a life, their joy light is like a dampened candle and their faces are already showing signs of despair.

Then post season begins with weeks of playoff’s ahead. They try and mask their depression through all the screaming and hollering, arm-chair fist beating, and shouting insults at the referees from their recliners – but it’s still there. The end is in sight and they know it.

Then finally the big day comes, people are planning parties, get-togethers, making “football-food” and setting up their living arena for the biggest game of the year. If their particular favorite team happens to be participating, then that event goes to a whole 'nother level.

The gamers will be dressed in their team jersey’s/colors, decorations may even be strewn about it, and they begin to argue about who will be invited and who will not – because fans of the opposing team – well you know what a night full of emotion can bring that to – A BOIL.

A big pot of boiling water just waiting to erupt. Because these true-blue football fans can get a little crazy. I know – I’ve been one of them. It’s the last game of football season, emotions are running high, you both want to scream for your team and cry because it’s almost over and you got some guy across the room in YOUR house wearing HIS enemy jersey cheering because THEIR side/team just made a touchdown with three minutes left in the game.

You consider putting a lamp shade up the side of his head or at the very least, slinging the chipotle dip in his face and your head is screaming inside, why did I ever invite this traitor anyway? But you gather your sanity and try and remind yourself – it’s just a game.

But is it? Just a game? It’s the last game and suddenly everything feels like life and death. Because IF YOU WIN – you still lose. Because this is it. There will be no more football for at least seven LONG months. The sadness is real, so are the DT’s you will soon be trying to survive and for weeks you will watch recorded football from games gone past.

But its back – pre-season football is back. Half the nation will be glued to their televisions even though the scores and wins don’t really count, they don’t care. Their bodies are already fill with the adrenaline that comes with the first sight of a goal post and a leather ball.

Look-out football nation – Season 2018 is coming for you!

Youth is just a Dream

Ladies, do you ever look at yourself in the mirror and actually say out loud, to yourself, what happened to me? I mean, we look at ourselves every single day, whether we’re brushing our hair, applying make-up or simply brushing our teeth. So, it’s not that we don’t know what we look like on an average daily basis. But then there’s the day, that one day, that we actually SEE ourselves in that mirror and you’re just like – wow, when did that happen?

I’ve been binge’ing a show on Netflix for the past week or so called The Fosters. It has a fairly young cast of characters for the most part, and the other night, as I was watching, I caught myself just staring, being almost fascinated with, their skin, and lack of wrinkles, body tone, and quite frankly, their youth.

When you’re young, you never think about those things. Ever. You may think about your weight, how your body is proportioned, the color of your eyes or hair, or how a bathing suit looks on you – but you never think about the youth that you walk around with every single day. The fountain of youth you take granted.

It slips away in stages, so slowly, that you don’t really notice. Kind of like that those extra pounds you accumulate. I mean, you do know it, because 10-15 more pounds means a new pants size. But hey! What the heck is 10-15 pounds in 5 years’ time? What’s one dress/pants size increase? But then it becomes two, etc. etc.

Well it works the same with wrinkles and lines. First there is that little one around the corner of your eye. Which you tell yourself is alright, because your friends tell you that those are smile/laugh lines – which in turn means you’re happy. But pretty soon, one wrinkle equals three and what does that mean? You’re downright flipping hilarious now?

And for some of us, the lines around the top lip will start. I always thought those lines only belonged to smokers. Nope. I have smoked two cigarettes’ in my lifetime, and I was a dumb teenager then. So, we (I) begin to look for lip-filler on the cosmetic shelf – to “fill-in” the lines so my lipstick doesn’t gravitate to them and they start looking like I have a roadmap streaming from my mouth.

Then, there is the dreaded upper-arm sag. My mother will tell you that no woman worth her weight as a female will wear sleeveless tops after a “certain age” because arm flab/sag is just not attractive. She herself doesn’t even wear short-sleeved tops outside of her house, and I swear to sugar, I don’t see any on her arms, even at 77 years old.

Well I do have all of those things and while I don’t go sleeveless anymore, except in the back of a fishing boat, I do wear short sleeves, because menopause and uncontrollable hot flashes dictate my dress code.

Young ladies, please listen when I say, don’t smoke, stay out of the sun/tanning beds, moisturize it, SPF it, exercise it, and wear a good bra. Because that will be your next nightmare – a topic for another day.

Memories Are Best When Shared

Sometimes I think that family histories are a dying art. You don’t hear about family reunions near as much as years ago; and even if people have them, you don’t see near as many young folks gathered at them.

I like to think that my house has a lot of history in it, whether it be hand-me-down furniture, dishes that belonged to my grandmother, or the many, many pictures scattered about my house, placed strategically in almost every room.

I have an etagere` that is covered with pictures of all our family from different stages of their lives, walls that speak to you when you walk by, begging you to turn your head and let a memory cross your mind and bring a smile.

I have paintings that were created by my Daddy hung in almost every room of my home; as well as art work and creations from my children, all from many years ago.

But my home, as I often say, is but a sheer amateur imitation of the home that belongs to my parents. The decorating was all done by my daddy, but it’s as such you would have thought a paid professional had done it.  And, they too, have many pictures of family history that go all the way back to the 1920’s, maybe even prior to.

This past weekend we all went to visit my folks in Albany Georgia, the town that I call home. Myself, my husband, my youngest son, and his girlfriend Megan. When we first arrived, we were bearing bags of hot lunches, so we went straight in and sat down at the table which was already set for our meal.

Lunch time consisted of burgers and fries from the local Five Guys there and accompanied by a lot of story-telling and laughter.

After lunch we were all stuffed as could be as we scattered out in their den, each of us looking for a place to wallow out a spot and get comfortable, as well as, mentally acknowledging we’d to fight to stay awake!

It was about that time, someone suggested that my mom take Megan on a tour of their home. My mom probably has more memories readily available in her head, than all of us in that room that day, collectively had together.

As I sat in my designated spot at the corner of one of the love seats, I could hear the chatter as it began; with descriptions and stories that accompanied each picture they stood in front of, relaying the times and places that all the events took place as well.

The two of them disappeared for at least an hour, and I am sure Megan’s brain was on information overload, but I caught bits and pieces of the tour, and as their steps would lead them somewhere within earshot, I could also hear the laughter that accompanied many of those stories and I realized how much joy that time was bringing to my mama and that I hoped to Megan as well.  

Families and the memories they hold are as big a part of the past as they are the future, if only we’ll take the time to listen when someone is willing to share them.