Dear Blog Diary--

I am so weary.  

So tired of the constant battle with this pain.

So tired of the constant worry about money to pay bills.

So tired of having no motivation to do anything.

It is an effort just to get through the day.

Dirty dishes pile up on the counter and, I don't care.

The carpeting needs vacuuming, cat fur, crumbs, pieces of yarn and floss and, I don't care.

It's been so hot and humid.  The A/C on the car only works intermittently. 

I had to drive a 75 mile round trip to visit a friend who needed help on her family tree.  It should have been a pleasant time, but she is slow and talks constantly.  The help she needed took 30 minutes, but I was there 3 hours before I could escape...and escape it felt like.

No food for the cats.  Out of bottled water, milk, bread, plus 2 bags of bottle returns.  I had to go to Walmart to pick up 3 prescriptions and it was the hottest day of the week.    The store feels cool but still very humid.

The gas tank light is lit.  $25.00 and not even full.  So hot standing there filling the tank.

Went through the car wash and my passenger side mirror got ripped off by the scrub brushes.  Didn't this just happen with the driver's side mirror a few months ago?

On the way home, the "Check Engine" light came on.  Now what?

I owe the lawn mowing guy $40.00 and my budget is already $65.00 in the hole.

This next week is going to be very busy, plus I have to find a place to replace my mirror and somewhere that will not charge too much to see why the check engine light is shining.

No phone calls for two weeks.  I have no idea what the family is doing or how they are doing.  They have no idea if I'm even still alive and don't seem to care.  If I didn't post on Face Book everyday, I wonder how long it would take before they noticed and checked on me.

Very, very weary.

My daughter Karen posted this photo on Face Book.
I had not seen it before and it brought tears.
This is after she and Mark had walked Madeleine down the aisle and were about to hand her off to Stefan.

You ask?
Who is this weird character and why is Judy with him?

I've known him since he was 10.  A neighbor and classmate of Karen's.  A kid that worked on the farm for my Daddy and played 4-H softball for him.

Character?  He certainly is!  You should see some of the stuff he posts on Face Book.  

Rabidly political?  Oh my!

Hard, crude language?  It would burn your ears and make your eyes water.

In reality?  Sweet.  Caring.  Thoughtful.  Very tender.

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It had been about 4 years since I've seen Harold, or Hal as he likes to be called.  He came for a visit back then.

He messaged me Monday, said he would be up in Howell and wanted to know if he could take me out to lunch for my birthday.

"Sure". I said.

"I'll pick you up at one".

"Two would be better."

"Okay.  See ya at two."

So unlike me to be so spontaneous.

======================

He arrived in his Mustang convertible, offered me a hat, which I declined and off we went.

A restaurant in Howell that specializes in steak and seafood.  Classy place.  Was I a bit embarrassed to walk in with him?  Not a bit.  He is quirky and today--quirky is cool.

He said to order whatever I wanted, so I did.  He retired from Dow Chemical Corporation at age 55, lives alone, has lots of moola--"live it up", he said.

I had French Onion soup, giant shrimp cocktail and a Maine lobster tail.  It was superb!.  He had raw steak 2 inches thick.

We talked--for 2 hours--politics, religion, the old days.  Memories he had of my Daddy and Karen and the other kids in their class, which of course I know.

Back in the convertible and home.

He doesn't talk rough, around me.  He is very respectful, around me.  He continually made me laugh.

I asked him if he was going to their class reunion--40 years.  He said, "Sure."  I told him I'd see him there.....because I had already been invited to attend by the other "kids" in his class.  They were and still are, my favorite class of all my kids.

===================

What a great day.

We should start referring to age
as "levels".
Being LVL 80 sounds way more awesome and wise, than just being old.
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Karen was playing '50's music in the background and apparently I decided to get up and dance.

Maddie had decorated my birthday cake.  It had a "4" between two goal-post candles, which meant "4 Score".  
MOM was made with blueberries and if you turned it around, it spelled, "WOW".

Birthday tradition.  Pammie paints my toenails.  She hates it.  It makes me feel pampered, so she does it because.....I'm the Momma.

Two years ago.

Well, it's official.

I have completed 80 years of life.

It feels weird.  You'd be surprised how differently 80 feels from 79--which I was on Thursday.  When someone asks how old I am, when told 79, they just kept on, but when told 80, it's like now they view me as elderly.  A lot of "youngers" view the elderly as slow, falling down, memory loss, in the way, sort of humans they have to put up with.

I don't understand at all how I got to be this old, this quick.  There seems to be no definition of how 80 year old's are suppose to think or act.  I don't feel 80 in my mind.  I just don't quite know what I am supposed to do now.  

My face isn't full of wrinkles.  I don't have dentures.  I don't use a cane or a walker.  I am still quite straight and tall and not hunched half over with Arthritis.  I don't take naps and I'm not Lactose or Gluten intolerant.  I don't wear Depends, I still eat spicy food and I go to bed at midnight not 9:00pm.  I drink way too much caffeine and puff on my nicotine vapor pen.

People say, "Age is only a number."

Yeah...it's a number.  A really high number.

It's a scary number.  I've seen it in neighbors, family and friends.  80 is when everything starts to go wrong.  Pacemakers and heart surgeries become the norm.  Old age diseases set in.  You start thinking about which nursing home or care facility you can afford.  You make sure all your important papers are up to date and you plan your funeral.

It happens so quickly.  You feel great one day and the next you have taken a fall and your internal organs are bleeding.  You get the news of a terminal disease.  The next thing you know, you're in Hospice.  The next few years are going to bring all of this.

I should be grateful, and I am, that I've lived this long.  So many of my friends have not had that privilege.  I miss them, but know in the back of my mind, I will soon join them.

Negative?  No, realistic.  Truths that I know are coming and wondering how I will handle it all.

I hope gracefully, but I very much doubt it.

I don't know who I am anymore.  

It is very disconcerting.