Dec. 29, 2001 - 18:28 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Giddy-up -- Whoa

Things for me are just not like they used to be, I understand that. But it alway seemed to me that when I retired things would get simpler and easier - a karma thing you know. Even so they become more complicated and frustrating.

Somewhere in one of my entries I wrote down my normal morning routine -- I should probably be ashamed to admit it, but it is mostly true -- a la Jack Webb, "Just the facts Ma'am," but the truth is there.

Then the necessity for us to go somewere arises. Heather will stick her head around the door and say, "Don't forget we are going to the doctor's at x o'clock." "Yes'm I say."

At what would have been a common sense time if I were a hundred years younger, I begin to get ready. But I easily forget that it takes me a heck of a lot longer now than when I could just jump into a set of clothes and go. I have help too, Heather will take a look as I am dressing and say something like, "Are you thinking you are going to wear that with this?" Well I was but now I know better than to admit to that, so I smoke screen it a bit and ask her what she wants me to wear. My long suffering mate will whip into the closet and from nowhere whip out an article of clothing I don't even know I own.

So then I need to remember to arrange my oxygen hose to prevent buttoning it up in my shirt or under the waistband of my trousers. The cannula must come off if a pullover sweater is to be worn, and then put back on. Elegantly dressed as the boss wishes, I prepare to depart. Le's see, keys in pocket, hankerchief in back pocket and billfold in the other back pocket, change in the other side pocket.

Then I begin to hunt my cane and after a frantic search it shows up exactly where I left it. I shut off the oxygen concentrater, disconnecect the cannula from the machine and hook it up to the bottle on the cart.

Okay, so out the door we go. Right back in to get my jacket and almost out the door, I run back and get the little pill box I carry with me. Oops, gotta go put my teeth in and check to make sure my hair is combed.

Out again and then right back in to pick up the mail to take to the postoffice, that I laid down. I get the door locked and don't have my cane with me now and have go hunt that up again, or have to put my teeth in or comb my hair or any combination of the afore mentioned things while remembering to hang on to the mail. Make it downstairs to the parking area, board the car and as we are driving out Heather will say, "You brought your checkbook with you didn't you?" In utter shame I admit I forgot that I would need it or plead the fifth and say, "Well, why didn't you tell me to bring it?" So we go around to the front of the building, Heather parks and I whip into the building, get the checkbook and head for the door.

Before I lock it though, the necessity of checking to see if I laid something down that I needed to take with me comes up.

Finally in the car, about half way to our destination Heather will emit a ladylike moan moan, exhale and cry that she forgot some whatever. Then there is the debate in her mind, my mind and between the two of us as to whether we need to go back for it. Sometimes it is yes and other times it is no.

We get there and manage to do what we set out to accomplish and not leave anything behind -- except occasionally my book that I was reading while waiting for her.

We are about two blocks from where we parked and Heather will say, "I forgot, we HAVE to go to xxxx on the way home." First off maybe she should have said "We need to go to xxxx on the way home." It would also be super if she would explain why I should go along with her, when it would be easy to drop me at home on her way by to her desired spot of whatever.

Eventually we do get home through the "by then" rush hour totally trafficated to the ears. I plod from the car to the elevator and then to the apartment and essentially undo what I did to get ready to go, in order to get comfortable once more, but I am fatigued, tired, pooped and frustrated.

We have once more played our version of the game called Giddy-up, Whoa . . . . . . . .

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