YET ANOTHER UPDATE

Surgery has been delayed. Garry got pneumonia and I got a nasty cold. Apparently coughing, sneezing and heart surgery don’t go well together. Surgery has been rescheduled for March 14th when presumably Garry will not have pneumonia and I will have stopped sneezing and coughing.

I’m not exactly eager for surgery, but I am eager to get this done. I want to get on with living. Everything has been on hold for what feels like forever.

I’m frustrated with waiting and this is not the kind of waiting in which one can relax and forget about what’s coming.

So, that’s the story. I’m okay, getting over my case of “what’s going around.” Garry is taking antibiotics and in theory should be better soon. He is certainly restless enough … and we are running out of groceries. Tomorrow, he will emerge from the house one way or the other. It’s time.

OSCAR ISN’T SACRED BUT WE WATCH ANYHOW

72-oscar-statue

Daily Prompt: Time After Time

We don’t have a lot of traditions. We have a lot of intentions, but they don’t always pan out. But we have one that’s sacred. Okay, not exactly sacred, but we do it every year.

Garry and I watch the Oscars.

We watch them when they are boring. We watch them when we are tired and would like to go to bed. We watched them one year in the pilot’s lounge at the top of a cruise ship on the biggest screen television I’ve ever seen.

Last year, we watched them in Connecticut with friends. For my money, Seth McFarland was the absolutely funniest-ever host.

Ellen DeGeneres was good this year. Pleasant. A kinder, gentler host. But McFarland made me laugh more and laughter always wins the day with me. Her selfie with the stars crashed Twitter and broke all retweet records with more than 2 million retweets.

Garry and I have been together 25 years — officially. Longer unofficially. Much longer entirely off the books. And we always watch the Oscars.

I suppose I should say something about why. I mean, mostly, the show is pretty dull. Insipid speeches thanking everyone the awardee has ever known since birth or even before birth in a previous life. Ho hum productions of the songs of the year. They used to have really bad dance numbers, but eliminated them this year. Drat. That was always good for a groan.

Ellen at oscars

Lacking the bad production numbers, we could gawk at the hideous examples of “one plastic surgery over the line.” Kim Novak was terrible to see. A lovely woman who fixed what didn’t need fixing. We barely recognized her. Then there were all the rest of them, so full of Botox that their faces were all zombified. Rigid. Men and women alike, terrified to be seen getting old.

Garry and I looked at each other and whatever problems we have, we look a lot better than they do. Without plastic surgery, thank you.

And one more thing. How come, since they have the financial wherewithal to buy whatever they want, are so many of them so badly dressed? Can’t buy good taste, eh?

So that’s why we watch the show. To see the new stars, the old stars, the gorgeous dresses from fabulous designers worn by aging stars who should know better. The awful dresses worn by beautiful young starlets who should look in the mirror rather than take the advice of designers.

Ugly tuxedos, terrible hair, bad makeup and some stomach-wrenching plastic surgery. And at least one or two wins for the actors, directors and others who’ve done an amazing job and deserve a victory lap.

The good, the bad and the ugly — it’s all part of the magic of the Oscar night.

Lupita-Nyongo-Oscars-2014

It gives us a chance to yell “Ew!!” yet we are ever-ready to praise those who come through the Oscar experience nicely dressed, not surgically remodeled, with some grace and dignity remaining.

We can hardly wait until next year.

Other Entries:

  1. Growing Up | The Jittery Goat
  2. Daily Prompt: Time After Time: #Coffee #Ritual | Of Glass & Paper
  3. chocolate | yi-ching lin photography
  4. we gather today | y
  5. Daily Prompt: Time After Time | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
  6. A sweet memory of the past | Attempted Human Relations and Self
  7. The One Hit Wonder | the intrinsickness
  8. Sex appeal? Clumsy oafess? Time after Time… | ALIEN AURA’S BlOG: IT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND!
  9. Kiss me, I’m Irish: a San Francisco tradition | Suddenly Single in Marin
  10. A book review for World Book Day | Sue’s Trifles
  11. As traditions go, this one isn’t bad. Bit costly though… | thoughtsofrkh
  12. DAILY PROMPT: Ritual | cockatooscreeching
  13. Family. Rituals. War. | daggyshog tales
  14. Ritual « Shrine of Hecate – Ramblings of a New Age Witch
  15. You know Gail Baker down the road? | The verbal hedge
  16. A twisted family tradition | A picture is worth 1000 words
  17. Daily Prompt: Time After Time | My Other Blog
  18. The More Things Change… | My Author-itis
  19. Daily Prompt – Time After Time. |
  20. It’s spelled ‘Crucian’. | Asta’s Space
  21. Minutely Infinite | Traditionally Speaking
  22. The beauty of a fitness routine versus having a joint-eater to be thin « psychologistmimi
  23. Family Vocabulary: Traditions! | ALIEN AURA’S BlOG: IT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND!
  24. Corn, Onions and Christianity | meanderedwanderings
  25. Daily Prompt: Time After Time « Mama Bear Musings
  26. Daily Prompt: Time After Time | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  27. S. Thomas Summers: Writing with Some Ink and a Hammer | On Our Fears its Soul Shall Feast

OTHER BRIDGES

Cee’s Which Way Challenge: 2014 #5

Bridge over blackstone autumn

Nothing says “Which way” like a bridge. Of course, bridges are inherently limiting. You can’t go any which way. You can go there. Or you can go back the other way. Going off the sides are frowned upon in most situations.

Little Colorado bridge - 2

Sometimes, you can throw a fishing line off the side of a bridge. Catch a trout or something like that. Other times, it’s a long, long way to the water below.

75-Footbridge-HP-1

And sometimes, bridges don’t span water. They span canyons and other hard surfaces — roads and traffic and such.

Bridge over canal

INVENTORY, MEMORIES AND BRAIN FUEL

It’s going around. I’ve got it. Garry’s got it. My best friend is just getting over it. My son had it last week and my granddaughter got it and recovered in a couple of day. If you’re a teenager, you get a cold, feel cruddy for a few days, then you’re better. No biggie. 50 years later, it’s a different ball game.

“How do you feel?” I ask Garry. I can take a good guess but I’m obliged to ask because this is how I express concern. And how he knows I care.

“Lousy,” he says. Succinct, to the point. That’s why they paid him the big bucks for all those years.

75-BosCommonHP-2

I remember when an inventory of bodily functions would pinpoint problem areas. I could assume everything else was fine, thanks for asking. Standing was one smooth movement, no grunting. I could eat anything that didn’t eat me first. I could (did) live on pizza and donuts with a side of diet Coke. It wasn’t healthy, but who cared?

We weren’t as obsessed with food as everyone seems to be these days. I doubt the current obsession with “healthy and natural” is going to make anyone live longer. Or forever, which is the underlying fuel for the obsession (beat death by eating healthy).

But we’re old school. We eat healthy because we like it. If we didn’t like it, we’d probably eat junk. It’s not a religion, just dinner.

75-AdventureBos-HP-1

In my 50s, I hiked from the Stop and Shop to our apartment on Beacon Hill carrying 20 pounds of groceries in each hand without breaking stride or breathing hard. Thighs of iron. On days off in the summer, Garry and I walked from our apartment to the Commons, then strolled to the Public Gardens. Rode a swan boat then stopped for dinner. And rambled on home just pleasantly tired.

75-BeautifulBoston_HP-14

I don’t want a younger brain (the body is another matter). I like my wise old brain, the way my thoughts dodge and weave through the mind’s object-linked file system. Each thought evokes a complete set of memories including pictures, music, smells and emotions. Whole experiences recreate themselves as the little electrical impulses fire. Good for you, old brain!

According to the AARP, coffee drinkers are 40% less likely to develop dementia than non-coffee drinkers. I drink a lot of coffee. I always knew it was the best brain fuel. Brew me another pot, would you?