Do you think she can hear me?

A typical day starts when the alarm clock goes off at 5:15AM . So it's really 5:05AM. I need to trick myself into getting up in the morning. Of course, I hear you asking yourselves, "It can't be much of a trick if she knows it's being done." Yes, well, go figure the female brain.

After slamming my fist down on the snooze button, at least three times, I peer over the side of the bed, one eye open, looking for Ginger. She is the senile, half blind family pet (my God, I have enough material on her to write a book!). She's as cute as a button and daft as they come. As always, my furry little rug is next to the bed. Proof again that I'm still limber most mornings. I manage to step over her while I attempt my exit from bed.

I make my way to the bathroom, praying I won't trip over anything. While in the bath, I hear the click, click of Ginger's nails. She is now setting the trap. She will be in the doorway of the bathroom…yep, there she is.

From there I cross the hall to my daughter's room, tap the foot sticking out from the blankets and stand back quickly as that foot kicks and announce "it's time to get up."

And so the day begins…

"Are you dressed?"

"Ugh, yes!"

"When did the dog go out last?"

"Can I have some money?"

"Ginger, do you have to go out?"

"Oh fudge! Where's my bus pass?"

"What happened to the lunchmeat?"

"Gary! When did the dog go out last?"

"I'm gonna be late! Where's my other shoe?"

One out the door, Me to get ready. Waffles in the toaster, teeth and hair done. Steps over the dog in the doorway once again. Damn, out of syrup and jelly just doesn't do the waffle justice.

Lunch, check. Tote, check. Purse, check. Keys, coat, shoes, check, check, check. Ginger now sitting in front of the door, "You're kidding me, now? Right? Gary! (yelling now) the dog has to go out!" Over the dog and out the door I go.

The tunes turned up, heavy metal morning, a stop at Tim Horton's for a coffee and I'm ready to start my day.

I love my job. I know, not too many people can say that. But I do. My coworkers are some of the best in the business and are all passionate about, not only their work but each other as a family.

My job is basically to answer billing questions of our patients and to collect cash from them. And, in spite of my complaints, I love talking to the patients. My favorites are the elderly ones. The more senile the better.

My first call is to a gentleman that was very upset (ok, upset is putting it mildly, he was pissed) about his billing. As I was looking at his account, I was asking about the weather in Rhode Island. Next thing I know he's telling me my voice is sexy and he is sitting in his boxers. Why me? No idea but he did cool down enough for me to explain his billing.

Several calls later, I explain a bill to a 91 year old woman who tells me that it's hell getting old and that she hopes it never happens to her. You have to love the attitude and between the two of us and anyone that will listen, I hope she doesn't either.

Of course, not all my patients are elderly and sweet. And they are certainly not entertaining. I do get my share of pistols. All I can say is I have not heard language like that since the last time I was drinking!

And my work day ends with the man who has his wife talk to me because he can't hear me. Of course the television is so loud I can't hear me. And all the while I am talking to her, the patient is on the extension telling her what to say. And she tells me like I can't hear him tell her what to say! It never ceases to amaze me with old men, the more they can't hear you, the louder they talk! I lost it when he yelled, "Do you think she can hear me?" If his wife and I had been in the same room, we would have been holding each other up. We were laughing so hard and the poor man never heard us.

On my way home, I stop at the bank to cash a check and bless the young man behind the counter who asks how I want my bills. "Spice it up, I've had a day". The dance he does suggests that he really wants to be a part of the "Canadian Ballet". Personally, he should give it a shot, he's not bad.

I park the car, get my bags out of the back and this, "What the hell is that smell?". The smell is coming from the back of the car and almost smells like something electrical is over heating. As I walk over the threshold, the only one to greet me is Ginger in the same spot I left her in. I inform Gary of he smell as he and Laura are off to do the grocery shopping. They come back with an "OMG!" on their tongues, "What is that smell?" If I knew, would I have asked an hour ago?

Now, here I sit, in the quiet of my home, giving you a detailed description of my day. I love the quiet at the end of the day, it's so peaceful until the sound barrier is broken with…

"Lynda! When was the last time the dog went out?"

Author Unknown

This poem was sent to me by my daughter, who received it from her best friend. I'm clueless as to where it originally came from. I had read it before and have to say it is one of my favorite poems. Honestly, I'm thinking a cross stitch sampler. Something one of my foremothers would be proud of. Go ahead and read, I'm just looking at the color scheme for the sample...shoo now, read on...

Ladies and gentlemen, hobos and tramps,
I stand before you and sit behind you
To tell you something I know nothing about!
Admission is free, you must pay at the door.
So pull up a chair and sit on the floor.
The show is over, but before you go,
Let me tell you a story I don't really know:

One bright day, in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise.
He came and shot those two dead boys.
If you don't believe this lie is true,
Just ask the blind man; he saw it too!

o_o_O

Anna's Story

Chapter One



It is spring of the year again, the April rain is beating against Anna’s windowpane. She stands there staring but not seeing the garden beyond the bedroom window. As she begins getting ready for yet another milestone birthday, she finds it so unbelievable that 90 years have gone so quickly.

She has buried both parents, two brothers, and her husband. While her mind feels like a thirty something, her body feels all of its 90 years. As memories race though her mind, there is a knock on her door, her only child, a son. Peter and his family planned this milestone party. “Milestone”, she thinks. “A milestone for outliving my friends and most of my family?”

Anna opens the door and she sees her son standing there. He looks so much like her father.

As he bends down to kiss her cheek, he says, “Are you all ready, Ma? Everyone is here, waiting. You look beautiful tonight Ma, the Belle of the ball.”

“Pfft!” She clicks her tongue. “A Belle he says, a tarnished bell!” Anna takes his arm and with his help, they descend the stairs to the foyer below. What is left of her family and friends have gathered around the foot of the stairs. Almost 100 years ago, her beloved Papa would have called her his prinzessin and tonight she feels every inch the princess.

Anna looks around, her son, his wife and their five children, their spouses, all the grandchildren, nieces and nephews and their families. All there to celebrate her birth.

She goes to each one, caresses his or her face with her hands and cries out, “Oh, mein liebling!” Each one accepts her caress as a loving kiss. Of course, the younger ones squirm a bit, but enjoy their Old Grandma more than they will let on.

Anna’s eyes move from her youngest grandson to the living room just beyond the French doors. The sight brought tears to her eyes.

Is Fitness Worth It?

Have you ever belonged to a fitness club, a gym as it were? A place to become fit? A place where entertainment is all around if you know how to look for it. A place where the little 90 pound weakling can think he is Adonis and the that big guy over there, yeah the one in the Speedo…yeah that one, gut hanging over it? He thinks he is Michael Phelps. Oh, that woman, the one in the sweat suit, running on the track? She thinks she is on the beach as Bo Derek, a real 10. Nothing wrong with it really, it helps self-esteem. I, for example, am a middle-aged woman with a gray streak like Lily Munster (better than a yellow one), that does not want to get older.

I have belonged to a few fitness clubs during my life. Most with my best girlfriend, Laurie. I am sure that if I go deep into the recesses of my memory, I’d remember why we would want to waste our time. We would sign up for a free month, go a few times and decide that we wouldn’t get our money’s worth. We would have but we were young, going to the local bars and looking for men was a priority.

Ok, back to the subject. I decided to join the YMCA this time around. At 52 years old, my hanging at the local bar and, as my mom used to say, “Lynda and the Marines have the same motto, they are both looking for a few good men”, are over. This time, I’m at the gym for me. I started with me losing some weight and thinking, damn, I’ve stopped losing, I have to do something in the meantime. I have absolutely no self-discipline and after taking several surveys, I ended up at the “Y”.

I went to the “Y” to check it out for myself, after having being told it was really a nice facility, not the inner city brick building I had envisioned. As I walk up to the desk, the young man in his teens who is obviously in training asks if he can be of assistance. Just out of curiosity, do these places ever hire the old, overweight, under toned or the just plain well, plain? Personally, I think that fitness employees are androids, no one could possibly look that good. My young friend gives me the tour…from the “family” locker room (I’m still hoping that vision will be erased from my retina), pool and basketball courts to the upstairs were the weight training, yoga, track and cycles are located. Quick tour but how much do I really need to see, right? Until he shows me the Senior Citizen package, the sixteen year old is doing a fine job. In addition, yes, until the manager came to check on the lad’s progress, I was going along with the Senior thing. I managed to get myself signed up for months of pain, I mean fitness.

My first trip was only to get a feel for the place and all I did was ride the stationary cycle. And the entertainment was astonishing. Just looking around me, I was able to get an idea of the type of people I’d be sharing this space with. First, there is a guy, maybe about my age, lifting weights in the corner. Seems like he is having quite a love affair going on, with himself. I swear I saw him throw himself a kiss in the mirror. Now on the right of me is a little guy, I mean short not young. He has what I call the Dudley Moore syndrome. I can tell by the way he is looking at the women around him that he thinks he is Hugh Hefner. Honestly, someone should tell this guy that it’s not his height that is turning the women off, it’s his attitude.

Now, my next trip was to start a 12 week weight training program. Cool really. I now have been told my fat mass (like it wasn’t obvious before, now it’s in writing) and have a regular schedule for the equipment. I ride a stationary bike for five minutes to warm up. However, I ride for about 15, I read on the bike and forget the time. Now I’m really warmed up. Ready for those weight machines,

The first machines are for the lower body,,,legs to be exact. Leg presses and curls. Then there are these two machines that tell me that I’m exercising. I’m not sure my legs are supposed to spread that far apart. But, it works. I feel the pain the next day. I’ve also noticed that men never use these machines. They don’t have an inner thigh problem? Probably not. I have, however, noticed that the some men will watch women on these machines. Use your imagination as to why.

Now I’m off to work my upper body. Now I people watch everyone else. This is better than any reality show you could ever watch. My favorites are the scrawny teenagers. May God bless each and every one of them individually, as they are the most pitiful of all His creatures. It also proves to me that He has quite a sense of humor. These boys work so hard to look good. As I’m working on the machines, I saw this one boy is working the nautilus machines at weights that would be right for him. Well, well he has spotted a girl he must fancy. Too bad he is 13 and she has to be at the very least 22. I’m sure he’ll be dreaming. But I notice that when she walks by him and the machine he is working on, he acts as if he just got to the machine and changes the weights from what looks like 100 pounds to 175. As he begins to work the chest press, I can see the veins in his neck bulging (yes, I know the muscles should) just to impress this girl. Guess what? Right, it’s not working. I’m not seeing a six-pack, I’m seeing a ribcage.

As I finish my workout, walking past all of those pumping iron I think to myself, is all this going to be worth the pain I’m going to be in tomorrow and the next day? Why I’m I bothering with it, age with grace Lynda. Lynda answers, “Hell no! I’m not going to be my Grandmother! I’m planning on fighting it all the way baby”! Anyone care to join me? Misery loves company!