My Dear Friends

I'm not doing well, and I 'm probably going to have to go into the hospital for awhile. I have been following the regimen of medications given to me by the ER doctor to the letter and have gotten no relief whatsoever. Being an old hat at this, I know what's in store for me when I decide to head back to the hospital...and though at the moment I'm trying like hell to avoid it, I know it's inevitable.

Currently my breathing is so bad that I can't walk or talk much. Movement makes me extremely short of breath. I have to sit very still and not move much at all. I know that I have symptoms of respiratory failure, and I know I need to be intubated again. (That's why I'm holding off on going back to the hospital). I have gone through this many, many times in my life...too many.

I can't smoke, so that's a plus. I do light one and hold it...sometimes take a tiny puff, but not inhale. Pathetic, I know. I'm embarrassed at my own idiocy, but I tell it like it is, even if it makes me look bad. I developed chest pain late last night, and it took 3 squirts with my nitro spray before it subsided somewhat. I know I am in serious hot water this time. And I am very aware that this time, I may not recover from it.

SO I wanted to let you all know, because I truly do care for my friends online. Everytime I sent you a hug or a kiss or told you that I loved you, I meant it!!! You all have enriched my life with your humor, and sharing your lives with me---- and it means a great deal to me. You are all wonderful people, and I am grateful to have met you!

I'm terrifed at the moment that I may not survive this latest round of illness...but I'm not looking for any one of you to feel sorry for me, I'm not looking for attention and I'm not trying to be dramatic. Facts are facts. I screwed up my own health by smoking. It's my own fault. I've got no one to blame but myself. I don't want to die...the idea of it scares me more than words can describe. I don't have a strong religious foundation to lean on for comfort like many folks do. So there's no feeling of a 'safety net'. I know I'm bearing the consequences of my own stupidity....that is, the act of smoking was stupid...I still hold to the opinion that doing stupid things does not make a person stupid overall....LOL I'm not an idiot. I'm not stupid. But in that particular area, I concede.

Hopefully I will return in a few days feeling better and will have kicked the smoking habit once and for all! If I could give up the smoking, it would make this current suffering well worth it.

I wanted to tell you all this myself now, just in case I don't make it...because I know when I don't hear from the people I care about, I worry about them. I'm not going to lecture you on the evils of bad habits like smoking...you're all adults, and unless you've been living under a rock, you know what the facts are-- and you're all responsible for the outcomes of your own lives. I hope you all will take care of your health better than I have done, but even if you don't, I won't love you any less.

I send all my love to each of you:

Isy
Peggy
Lisa
Kris
Karen
Lina
Sue
Nick
Sheri
Janice
Cassee
Jill
Portia (only know your RP name)
Shannon
Claudine (RP)
Mikey
Terri
Scott
SantaDeareat (RP)
Yarho
SweetlyCaroline (RP)
Camille
GG
Lori
WarrenWm.
jinnandtonics
FizzyDuck
RedHatsof NedCo.

You all took the time to be my friends and I adore you all. You have made me laugh, make me think about things and shared your unique perspective on life that I have enjoyed immensely.
If I have not named you, it just means I have a crappy memory and not that this all doen't apply to you. I have almost 400 people who follow me on twitter and I have spoken to many of you directly. I can't possibly name you all, but you know who you are!

Granni Hugs and Kisses!! Hope to see you all real soon.

With All My Heart,
Annie

This and That

I've been pretty busy for the last week, but nevertheless have been very observant. Strange things have been happening...odd, annoying, or just plain idiotic! Now, I'm not one to gripe, but I have found some happenings a little less than appealing.

Let's start off with the lawn mower man. Lawn Mower man comes to my house once a week to mow and weed whack (sorry, it doesn't EAT the grass, it WHACKS it). I have a full acre of yard, and with all the rain we got the past week, it had gotten fairly high and thick. Normally he comes on Thurdays, but last Thurs. he was a no-show. By Monday, I was pretty irritated with how my yard was looking and called. "Oh yes! We'll be there this afternoon" So I waited at home...and he didn't show up till 7:30PM. Maybe he thought I had no life.

Let me tell you, he whizzed thru my yard so fast that the grass simply laid down and popped back up after he passed over it. Then, skipping the normal weed-whacking areas, he hurriedly loaded his truck and split. Hmmm...for that I pay 50 bucks? Now my daughter, after a full day of running around to school and back, doing the grocery shopping for me and chasing the kids thru the park-- is out there at dusk re-mowing the yard with a push mower.

The other night, the lid to my kitchen trash can mysteriously opened and closed by itself. No one was around but me and my other daughter, and she saw it too. *shrugs* Okaaay....

Online this morning the headlines included a story about a dairy in Ohio who was secretly filmed abusing their cows. Beating them with crowbars, stabbing them with pitchforks and punching them in the head. WHY???? If this was for their amusement, or some kind of therapeutic way of releasing their stress, I'd like to relieve some of my stress on those people myself! That story made me cry.

One of my favorite bands will be in Indianapolis on June 23rd, (The Moody Blues) and I so wanted to go. But my sister who lives here will be on vacation back to NJ for that week, so I don't get to go. *sigh*

You all know I had tests done two weeks ago for my heart. Well, after all this time, I figured no news is good news... and thought I was in the clear. Nope. The doctor's office called today to tell me my tests were abnormal and I need to come in. Something about a lack of oxygen to my heart....no more details were given, I have to wait till June 8th to get the full story from the doctor himself. Yeah, that will be a relaxing couple of weeks.

Normally I would close this post with some amusing remark, as I have done with the others ...but I don't have any. This world sometimes makes me sick. The troubles going on around us weigh heavy on my soul, like the oil spill in the Gulf...slowly, surely coating everything beautiful in it's sticky, suffocating goo. Some days I have to ask myself, 'why am I here?' then a little voice in the middle of the night will come to me and say, "Gramma, can I sleep with you tonight?" and I know.

Loose Lips

When I was a kid, keeping my mouth shut at the appropriate times was sometimes difficult. My mother would give me a look that could rip your skin off and I would be told later that whatever it was I said was "unacceptable". The problem was, I was never a good liar, and didn't know how to keep family secrets very well. I never knew when it was okay to say something and when it wasn't. Mom was always telling me to grow up, which confused the hell out of me, because she never could tell me how to go about doing just that. I would've loved to accomodate her, just so I would gain her approval in some small way--but alas, it was not meant to be.

As I got older, I definitely learned what things I could tell her safely without the worry of getting any flak. But occasionally, an innocent comment would get me and hour and a half lecture fraught with disapproval. *sigh* Mom was definitely a Type-A personality and anal-retentive about almost everything. Mom could nit-pick about the dumbest things like how you combed your hair, where you went to get your taxes done and how much money you spent on dinner out. Sometimes she would take it too far and it was so ridiculous, I had to stifle my laughter.... Like once I called her on the phone and she answered in an annoyed tone. When I asked her what was wrong, she said: "I'm trying to eat dinner!!" So me being the smartass that I am replied, "Oh good. That was my plan, to interrupt your dinner!" She realized the absurdity of being angry and laughed.

In the past few years, I have noticed that when I'm uncomfortable or nervous, I'll say things that are blunt, brutally honest and sometimes inappropriate leaving me embarrassed or horrified. The first time I took note of it was when I was in the dentist's chair. Fully numb and mush-mouthed, his drill hit a spot that nearly made me cling to the ceiling. Not thinking, I signed "that fucking hurt!". He looked at me, not knowing what I was signing and said, "What?" So stupid me had to translate with a mouth full of cotton. Now I was on gas at the time, and I will use that as my excuse for my lack of discretion--but anyone who lives in the South will tell you, a lady NEVER drops the F-bomb. Thank God my dentist laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair, but I skipped a few appointments to be sure he'd forgotten the incident...(he didn't).

Yesterday, I'm meeting my new doctor for the first time, and he's asking me many questions about my health history. He asked me about mammograms, Pap smears, and finally asked me if I'd ever had a colonoscopy. Again, without thinking I responded, "Uh uh...NO WAY" He said, "Why?" To which I replied, "Noboody's running a hose up my ass!" ::oh god, I didn't just say that out loud did I?:: One look at his face told me, yeah, I certainly did. Thankfully, he laughed really hard and said, "Well, at least you're honest!"

I won't even tell you about the time I was in church when they introduced a guest speaker named "James Brown" and yes, he was a skinny little black man. Naturally, I had to open my big mouth and start singing (albeit quietly) "Ow! I feel good..." But two rows of folks behind me and two rows in front of me heard me, some tittered and snickered, others gave me that same look mom used to.

So when I say 'I tell it like it is' that's not my way of bragging about my ability to be honest, it's a warning to others that I just can't help myself.

Older Yet Wiser?

I am a member of the 'boomer generation' ...this includes anyone who was born between 1949 and 1963. I was born in 1958, which makes me 51. This wouldn't be too bad except I have been ill most of my life and medications have aged my body beyond my years. So I may be 51, but physically, I'm around 80.

Menopause is a faint memory, having gone through it in my 30's, and now I'm looking at the remainder of my life as if it was the last slope on a rollercoaster. Going downhill waaay too fast for me!

This morning what's on my mind is the whole aging process. You get older, you get wiser and your life should generally improve. Older people retire, go on cruises, play golf, nap whenever they want, join old people's clubs and enjoy the empty nest--or so I thought.

These days, I'm finding out that it's becoming more common for multi generations to be living together under the same roof. Grandparents, (Great-Grandparents in some cases), parents and grandchildren all living together. My grandchildren live with me, as do both of my grown daughters. I couldn't imagine it any other way, to be honest--in spite of the fact that some days I long to be alone.

With grandchildren underfoot, unique and interesting experiences can crop up at any given time; and both grandparent and grandchild can be frightfully disillusioned at the lack of mystery this can create. My grandsons see me in the morning, which can be a scary experience...they tend to know when I've had a "depends" moment despite my attempts at discretion : "Gramma! You're supposed to use the potty!!" Of course, I am aware when they have 'accidents', much to their horror. Humiliation and embarrassment tend to hit both our generations regularly, it seems.

I recall a day last summer, when I was sitting in the swimming pool with the boys enjoying the hot afternoon. My oldest grandson glided up to me and suddenly was taken aback and gave me a long, thoughtful look.

"Gramma" he said, "Are you a man?"
"What?" I said, confused. "No! Why would you think that?"
"Cause you have a moustache, just like Poppy's" He said, still eyeballing my upper lip with wide eyes.

Grandchildren say what's on their minds, they don't edit their thoughts--much to my dismay at times. Excusing myself in a restaurant recently to use the bathroom, I return to the table where my youngest grandson asks me quite loudly, "Did you stink it up like you do at home?" Then he burst into hysterics. Smartass at four, already.

I find getting older is insulting most of the time. You get hair where you're not supposed to, which is doubly-humiliating if you're a woman. The hair you're supposed to have starts getting thinner (on top and down below). Your hair turns gray... everywhere! My husband was kind enough to point that fact out when I was in my 30's. I attempted to dye my hair down there, and ended up hopping all over the bathroom because my crotch was on fire for that 25 minutes. Then, it only dyed the hair that was my natural color, leaving a gray streak right down the middle. *sigh* I'll never do that again!

There is a multitude of humiliations at becoming an old person, but on the plus side (yes, there is one) the kiddies run to Gramma for comfort, I can give them candy or soda and leave them with their mom for a few hours...*grin* and Christmas, Easter and the first snowfall brings with it the ability to play like a child and blame it on senility. I have some hearing loss, but can use that to my advantage when I choose to ignore when someone is talking to me. I can avoid crappy chores by simply hobbling around the house and acting like a cripple.

All in all, I'd rather be where I am in life now, than be young and weighed down with a miserable marriage and responsibilities of a family while hubby parked his ass in the chair in front of the TV while I cooked, cleaned and supervised homework. I can still do those things, but now by choice instead of a 'have to'. But I wouldn't complain if I woke up one morning looking like Catherine-Zeta Jones, instead of Ma Kettle.

The Bird is the Word

A couple of days ago, my daughter was taking her son to school when she happened to come across a baby robin fluttering about in the hallway inside the school. Being her mother's daughter, she scooped up the baby bird -- much to the relief of the school staff -- and brought the little one home to me.

When I lived in New Jersey, I rescued injured and abandoned wildlife, working with a local rehabilitation /wildlife refuge place out in Tabernacle, NJ. I've had my share of moles, skunks, baby rabbits and squirrels, but mostly I had birds.

Taking care of baby birds is a huge undertaking, you have to mix special food for them which consists of paste-type dog food, applesauce, baby cereal, hard boiled eggs, and bone meal. This you feed to the baby bird every two hours or so with tweezers or a toothpick with the sharp end cut off and smashed flat to make a little spoon type deal. The babies tend to crap everywhere, especially the mockingbirds, who poop huge jelly-bean sized turds. When they start to learn how to fly, the like to perch on your shoulder or your head and generally poop there as well.

This little baby has all its feathers, but seems off kilter in her balance and cannot fly yet. I have to lock myself in the bathroom to feed her, since one of my dogs is a bird dog and would kill it and eat it if given the opportunity. She refuses to eat the dog-food mix so I've been making her scrambled eggs, which she loves. My grandsons have decided to name her "Eggy".

I had one other bird that I had difficulty in rehabilitating years ago, a female cardinal, who would not fly save short distances but preferred running on the ground. I ended up keeping her (I named her Jeanette, after Jeanette MacDonald) and she happily lived with me for 16 years, believe it or not.

This morning I took little Eggy into the bathroom where my grandsons (age 4 and 9) joined me to watch, fed her her scrambled eggs and gave her water from a syringe. She tried desperately to fly all the while voicing her complaints quite loudly with an irritated expression on her face. She then flapped her wings and climbed up my arm and settled on my shoulder, nipping at my hair. The boys got a big kick out of it.

Then the four-year old taps me and says, "Gramma, Eggy pooped on your shirt!" To which he fell on the floor in hysterics. The 9 year old was completely grossed out and was making faces, which made me laugh.

Hopefully little Eggy's flying skills will improve in the next week or so and I can release her. Till then, I think the whole situation kind of illustrates how life really works. You go out in the world and contribute what you can to the benefit of mankind or nature-- and sometimes, in spite of your well-intentioned efforts, you get crapped on.

Is it right to have expectations?

Is it? Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, but when I pay for a service, I expect that service to be provided without a hitch. When I was a child, people took pride in doing their jobs well. The milkman came every day around the same time, so did the breadman. (Yes, they delivered to your door) Our milkman at the time would brave a blizzard to bring milk to our house even if we were the only ones he got to. He knew my mother had small children (there were 7 of us), and when the twins (my baby sisters) were infants, that milkman never missed our house in spite of below zero weather and 10 inches of snow...and he was happy to do it! I miss service with a smile.

Oh, there are some places you go today, where they practically molest you as soon as you enter the door. "Good Morning" or "welcome" is the usual greeting...I could do without being accosted that way--especially if it's early in the morning. If I make a run to the store early in the morning, you can bet I threw on a bulky sweater to hide the fact that I didn't put my bra on, and I'm usually wearing my slippers. The old adage "Don't speak unless spoken to" would apply there.

What I'm talking about is services where they act like they're doing you a favor instead of supplying a service you paid for. Take for instance, the newspaper. Now, I just moved here April 1st, and about two weeks after we got here, I ordered and paid for home delivery of the local newspaper. It normally gets delivered about 4 AM, so when I get up, it's already out there. Unless it rains.

Every time it has rained, the paper is a no-show. At first, I let it go--figuring the carrier got them all wet, or something like that. But seeing as how we have had quite a few rainy days, I started to call and request my morning paper. You know us old folks are creatures of habit, which are ingrained in us from many years of doing the same thing at the same time every day.

This morning, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and no newspaper in the box. So I call the circulation dept. and complain. The person on the other end of the phone acts like I just woke her up, and she's quite annoyed that she has to answer the phone, apparently. She promises to have a paper sent out to my home, and I'm still waiting.

It's not that I'm a big news freak, either...but I do enjoy reading the headlines, the comics and Dear Abby with my morning coffee. I get most of my news online anyway. But somehow the coffee is not as good without the morning paper laid out on the table.

The carrier knows that the Tribune is the only newspaper published for this area, so I can't call and threaten to subscribe to a competitor. You either take what they got, or go without. I miss the old days, when you could set your watch on things like delivery of the day's milk, or the morning paper. Now it seems that the only thing I can set my watch to is my early morning trip to the bathroom. At 6:40 every day I climb out of my warm bed to visit the bathroom, much to my dismay at having been awakened in the first place. But at least no one is waiting for me to greet me with a smile there!

Welcome

Hi and welcome to my blog! Some of you folks know me from twitter (@Granni_Annie) , and I thank you for visiting.

Things have been a bit topsy-turvy around here for the past couple of months. My family and I moved to another state, which was a big pain in the butt, but well worth it now that we've settled in. I must've done too much with the move and all cause I got real sick the 2nd week we were here, and ended up in the hospital. Nothing serious, I had some multi-million dollar equipment analyzing my heart and I should be getting the results in the next few days.

Living back up North after having lived in the South for 13 years is very strange, different and surprising at at times. Down South the ladies (not the girls) were pretty prim and proper...being back up north is like putting on a comfortable old pair of shoes. People here curse in public, and no one bats an eye. The folks here are very friendly, more so than they were down south, believe it or not. In the southern states, folks are fairly suspicious of outsiders. They know by your accent that you're not from "these parts" and some will mumble under their breath about "yankees". But for the most part, the South is beautiful and much slower paced than the rat race of the north. Southerners size you up pretty darn fast by the clothes you wear, your accent and by what church you're affliated with--and heaven help you if you don't belong to a church! They will avoid you like you were the devil himself!

Though I miss the farm, and all the animals we took care of while my landlord was battling cancer, I have come to like this place here with our little one acre yard. I'm sure my new neighbors would be glad we didn't bring the pig and the turkeys with us!

So welcome everyone and come back and visit me now and then. I'll try not to bore you and maybe you'll get a little laugh here and there.

Lots of Hugs!

RIP Jimmy! We love ya and miss ya!