Life: Deal With It!

Life: Deal With It!

(Whinging Valley, Vortexia) – Deal with it! Get over it! How many times have we wished we could shout that at someone? The problem is, sometimes we need to shout it to ourselves. Why, I had to chastise myself just the other day to deal with an issue I would have rather ignored.

I can’t remember exactly what I was in such a dither about. Aging, most likely. Or perhaps the maddening, convoluted process of getting published. Maybe it was the fact that my father is battling lung cancer. Probably all three, with the latter providing the primary reason for wanting to hide my head in the proverbial sand.

Ah, denial, my dysfunctional friend. It’s such an attractive alternative in dealing with fear; in dealing with all of life’s imperfections. Indeed, I’ve perfected the art of pretending life is painless, that there’s no illness that can’t be cured and no life that can’t be resurrected. I imagine that I will live to be 100 and so will all of my friends and loved ones. I imagine every newlywed will be married happily ever after.

When accused of not being a realist, my defense, of course, is that I’m an optimist. But I delude myself; optimism is faith, and hope, in the face of reality. It allows us to tackle and defeat an enemy and move on. Denial is fantasy, pure and simple. It traps us in time and space and strangles any chance of gaining victory over our demons.

To deny the challenges and natural consequences of aging is illusory and just plain stupid. I might as well tell myself money grows on trees as believe growing old is a walk in the park.

And I’m learning to accept the goal of being a published novelist as the sadistic pursuit it is, rather than the romanticized image I once entertained. What a relief.

I will lose my dad some day. There’s no denying death, that grand-daddy of all fears, ever present boogey-man of our minds, thief of our peace and tormentor of our souls. It is the ultimate denial killer. After interviewing the Vicar of Baghdad recently, my pre-occupation with my father’s cancer subsided. There’s nothing like talking with someone who faces death everyday with a smile on their face to put it all in perspective. I’m no longer thinking of death in terms of “this side of the veil.” Instead, I’m training myself to look beyond the horizon into eternity.

So, after a two-week hiatus brought on by a writers’ conference, multiple manuscript submissions, and my dad’s health crisis, I’m back in Vortexia, refocused, rolling with the punches, raring to move on and deal with it.

It’s high time.

The Long Arm of the Law Reaches Around the World, Snagging Unsuspecting Man

The Long Arm of the Law Reaches Around the World, Snagging Unsuspecting Man

(Veni-Vidi-Vici, Vortexia) - Last summer we were in Italy for a Bertozzi family reunion. My husband, Big Time Dave, had unanimously been voted our designated driver. But before I tell you what happened this week, you must know something about Dave. He is a good driver. I didn’t say “safe” driver. “Good” and “safe” are sometimes two different things.

Dave is one of those fearless, “take-the-bull-by-the-horns” types; the kind of driver you would want to be in control of your car in an emergency. I’ve witnessed some of his hair-raising maneuvers and can guarantee they border on the miraculous. To this day, I still marvel at some of them.

Like the time we were separated from our lead car in the heart of Paris during rush hour and he did a U-turn in the middle of the Place de la Concorde. Eye-witnesses on the street were astonished. Or the time he returned a car rental in downtown Marseilles within moments of boarding our train. Anyone who has been to this little French Algeria on the Cote d’Azure knows what an incredible feat of motor engineering that must have been. Or the time he backed up on an interstate overpass in Rome. I nearly lost my lunch on that one.

Of course, that’s the kind of moxie a driver must have to drive in Italy.

As fate would have it, however, this week (almost a year from the date we were in Italy last year) Dave received a traffic ticket for 102 euros in the mail from EMO - The European Municipality Outsourcing. It was a lovely looking envelope with lovely print and grand flourishes; just like everything else in Italy. Lovely.

The loveliness was lost on Dave. You see, my husband is also a proud man when it comes to traffic fines. He was initially incredulous, then indignant, and finally outraged by a traffic camera’s claim that, on the outskirts of Florence last August he – according to Art. Lo 7C.14 – CIRCULATED ON THE BUS LANE DESPITE THE PROHIBITING TRAFFIC SIGNS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE BUS LANE.

Although he suffered a mental block while trying to recall that day in Florence, I remembered it vividly. Dave was in the front seat asking (shouting, actually) “What lane do I get in?” I and a friend in the back seat, magnifiers in hand, were pouring over a map straddled across our laps trying to make sense of the tangle of roads before us in the split-second we had to make a decision. It was the first of so many fiascos that day on the road to Rome, I’m surprised our mail box wasn’t flooded with traffic tickets when we got home.

Poor Dave. The long arm of the law, reaching all the way from Italy, has found him.

At first he debated not paying the fine, but thought better of it when he realized it would mean he could never go back. He would be a wanted man the next time we visited his cousins, and that just would not do. So, he’s sucking it up and coughing up the fine.

Given the daring reputation Daddy Dave has built for himself these last years, my kids and I are laughing till our sides hurt.

Knowing Which Bullets to Dodge and Which Bullets to Chase Down

KNOWING WHICH BULLETS TO DODGE AND WHICH BULLETS TO CHASE DOWN

(Pensees Park, Vortexia) – I have been informed by a concerned reader that a certain medication affiliated with a certain medical procedure I wrote about recently can cause kidney failure. Since I am still alive, I can safely assume I dodged that bullet, though the air is certainly thick with them, 24/7. It’s a real battle out there, folks.

Worse yet, (or better yet, depending on your ability to handle morbid thoughts) these metaphorical “bullets” seem to come with their intended victims’ names engraved on them along with the purpose of their mission…such as “Teresa Neumann – kill kidneys.”

Everyone has their bullet-dodging “close call” stories, of course. Those times we “just missed” being in a car accident, or “almost” lost our job, or just in the “nick of time” were snatched from disaster. Unfortunately, we rarely have the benefit of seeing these allegorical bullets until they zing past us so closely they sting.

To complicate matters, timing and location are critical to the ability of these “bullets” to hit their targeted victim. Take the case of our neighbor who was killed instantly while on his daily morning walk by a man who fell asleep at the wheel. If our neighbor had only slept a moment later, or had that second cup of coffee before leaving, or (fill in the blanks), he wouldn’t have been at the exact place at the exact time he was killed. Mind-boggling. Scary. Shades of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

But, seriously, there is another side to (dare I phrase it?) the “destiny” coin, and those are bullets of grace. Bullets engraved with promises, revelation and healing. These are the bullets that slap us upside the head with joy when they hit. The jobs we were convinced we’d never get, but did. The perfect mate we thought we would never find, but did. Those are the bullets we want to hit us smack on. No running, ducking or hiding from them, my friends.

Come to think of it, since 2009 has been a war-torn year for me, I guess I should take my own advice, quit cowering in fear over the next bullet I need to dodge and go on the offensive.

If you see any grace bullets with my name on them would you send them my way?

5 Reasons Why Women (Should) Love Colonoscopies

5 REASONS WOMEN (SHOULD) LOVE COLONOSCOPIES

(True Confessions, Vortexia) – I recently had a colonoscopy. For reasons I won’t go into here, I have had three over the course of ten years. I say it unashamedly. Proudly even.

The king of colon health awareness is, of course, the legendary humorist Dave Berry. Since it would be impossible to top his hilarious piece de resistance, A Journal Into My Colon and Yours miamiherald.com/283/story/427603.html I will simply address the benefits of this procedure from a woman’s perspective.

There are five very good reasons why women should/would love having a colonoscopy:

1. The dreaded “prep” the day before the procedure, in which the patient is expected to drink copious amounts of fluid, and deposit equally copious amounts of fluid in their septic or sewer system, is an excuse to sequester yourself from the niggling demands of husband and/or children.
2. The dreaded “prep” is also a convenient way to drop a couple of pounds over night.
3. You are “knocked out” (semi-conscious) during the actual procedure. It means that you will enjoy a guilt-free deep sleep surrounded by motherly, pampering nurses; during the day, no less. Nice.
4. Upon arriving back home the day of the procedure you can milk your recuperation for all it’s worth. No cooking, no cleaning, no nothing. Grab a blanket, a good book and/or video and sequester yourself from the niggling demands of husband and/or children.
5. Better yet, niggling husbands and/or children will be forced to feel sorry for you and perhaps learn to appreciate you more. At least in the short term, until the day after the procedure when you will be expected to return to full-duty.

The truth be told, I am guilty of Nos. 1-4 above. And no, I don’t care that my husband’s empathy for me stems from the fact he’s glad he’s not the one having the abhorrent procedure. Sympathy is sympathy and I’ll take it whenever I can.

Of course, I jest. Kind of.

Really girls, you can do it! As I’m fond of telling my disbelieving husband: “I’ve given birth three times. A colonoscopy is nothing!”

If you have any suspicious symptoms, see your doctor and ask if you need to have a colonoscopy. If you are uninsured, check with local agencies to see if there are low cost clinics that can help you.

The peace of mind that comes from knowing you have a clean bill of health, or that you were able to catch something early before it became untreatable, is well worth the effort made. Not to mention the perks of rare self-indulgence women can glean from the experience.

Don’t put it off any longer. Do something about it today.

Road Hog Backs Up Interstate Traffic for Miles; Incites Road Rage

ROAD HOG BACKS UP INTERSTATE TRAFFIC FOR MILES; INCITES ROAD RAGE

(Peevesboro, Vortexia) -- A recent trip to Portland on I-5 proved to be another jaw-clenching exercise in self-control for this usually serene writer. The source of my vexation? Road hogs.

Here’s what happened. On a long stretch of the interstate, far from a major city, the traffic had come nearly to a standstill. Moments later, cars behind me began darting into gaps in the slow lane, merging back into the left (passing) lane far ahead of me. Taking their cue, I followed suit.

Was it a wreck that had been holding up traffic? No.

Road construction? Nope.

Then surely, it was rush hour? Guess again.

The culprit was a sophisticated looking woman driving a small luxury vehicle in the passing lane, her elbow resting casually out her window as she chatted away on her cell phone. On her lap was a miniature poodle straining to look over the steering wheel. Cruising nonchalantly at 55 mph (the speed limit in Oregon is 65), she was oblivious to everything and everyone around her.

A better person would have chalked this woman’s infraction up to ignorance, but when it comes to people driving slowly in the passing lane that better person is not me. After considerable fuming, I came to the conclusion that road hogs share three things in common:

1. They travel just at, or below, the speed limit.
2. They presume that as long as they’re not speeding, they can drive in any lane they wish for as long as they want.
3. They either don’t see the signs that say “Slower Traffic Keep Right,” or they choose to ignore them.

I realize there’s probably nothing to be done about the problem; worse yet, I suppose the onus falls on me to control my “road-rage.”

But still, can’t someone invent an LED display for the rear window or bumper of my car that I can program in messages for road-hogs when I pass them? Something like, “Move over imbecile!” or “Get your bum into the slow lane!” or “Pass or give up your spot!”

I guarantee, such an invention would make someone a millionaire. It would certainly make a lot of drivers, like me, very happy.

Sarah Palin May Abandon Her Family and Move To America?

SARAH PALIN MAY ABANDON HER FAMILY TO MOVE TO AMERICA?

(Scary Senior Momentsburg, Vortexia) -- The other day, while watching the news about Governor Sarah Palin’s resignation, grandma made a startling observation.

“So that means she’ll probably leave her kids now and move to America,” she said.

My husband Dave and I looked at each other.

“What do you mean, mom?” my husband asked.

“Well, she can’t bring her family to America with her.”

Intrigued, Dave pressed her further. “When you say ‘America’ you mean ‘Washington,’ don’t you?”

As in, Palin could have her eyes on the White House. Surely, that was what his mentally alert 92-year-old mother, who watches the evening news on a daily basis, meant.

Rather frustrated, she replied, “You know what I mean! She can’t bring her children with her if she moves to America.”

Dave shook his head. “Mom, Alaska is a state; not a different country. She couldn’t have been on a presidential ticket if she wasn’t an American.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Grandma looked chagrined, but also more than a little annoyed.

We won’t mention who she voted for in the last election, nor will we broach the subject of voter intelligence. It would be unkind and pointless and besides, this blog aims to steer clear of political controversies.

That said, it’s senior moments like these that make for priceless memories.

Grandma Abandons Family

GRANDMA ABANDONS FAMILY; HOW DARE SHE HAVE A LIFE OF HER OWN?

(Pity Partytown, Vortexia) – Grandma is leaving. Slowly, but surely, my 92-year-old widowed mother-in-law is spreading her wings after living with us for the last seven months.

Still independent, she has found an apartment at a local senior facility where she will, no doubt, embark on a more exciting life. I guess watching me slouch, slack-jawed, at my computer 8-hours a day wasn’t enough entertainment for her.

Even so, how dare she leave us? Doesn’t she know she has (through no fault of her own) become my pet, my unplanned fourth child? I tiptoe through the house when she sleeps. Because she is too short to reach my cupboards, I set her breakfast out for her every night before going to bed. I drive her to her many appointments, comfort her when she is confused or distraught, and watch programs with her I would never watch myself.

I am facing an empty nest again. That’s the rub. I try telling myself it will be great to have my days back all to myself, but know it’s only half-true.

Of course, I won’t miss worrying that she’ll fall while I’m gone; nor will I miss her fretting fatalistic grousings. But the truth is, I’m going to miss grandma terribly. I’ll miss her lovely soft white hair, her frail little mannerisms, her sweet voice and kind exhortations. I’ll miss her presence here in the house.

On the bright side, I know the new life she is embarking upon will not only be fulfilling for her, but will provide me with countless stories found only in the incomparable world of senior care homes. Anyone remember Yetta on “The Nanny?”

Stay tuned for more…

UNEXPECTED ANNOUNCEMENT THROWS WRENCH IN VORTEXIA

(El Murphy’s Law, Vortexia) – News flash. My youngest daughter has just announced she is moving back home after having lived on her own for a year. Appears we’ll be moving her in as we’re moving grandma out.

Scratch the empty nest lament above.

If universe means “one-song,” vortexiverse means
“crazy melodies with a calm hook”