The Seven Year Switch or Age is a Number...and they've got mine!

by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for the Seven Year Itch, , Twitch, Hitch,  Stretch

If you live long enough, you are bound to experience age discrimination, and I have.  Because I have banned all mirrors in my house, I forget that my laugh lines do no disappear when I stop laughing, so you can imagine my surprise when people thought I was old on our recent cruise.

Ok, the fact that this was our 50th wedding anniversary cruise should have given me a hint that I wasn't twenty any more, but I don't feel old in spite of nature's little reminders.

The first "surprise" happened on the first night of the cruise.  After dinner Dr. Hubby, the nine-year-old, the twelve-year-old, myself, and my sister and her husband had a family picture made to commemorate the occasion. See blog "One Picture Needs a Thousand Words." The gist of the portrait fiasco was that the photographer thought that the children belonged to my sister and I was her mother.  Our mother is 94 by the way.  I did NOT buy the pictures. 

The next day younger sister suggested we attend some free spa and beauty sessions located on Cloud 9.  I didn't know if she was not so subtly hinting that one of us needed some beauty help or because it was raining and she didn't want to play Bingo.  

We had our feet printed and analyzed and guess what?  My feet needed $200 insoles.  Her feet were flat but fine.  We went to the skin toning and wrinkle smoothing session.  Guess what?  My skin needed $1,950 worth of lifts, tucks, and sucks. She needed a $39 face cream.
We went to the free beauty make-over.  I was not even in the running for the free teeth whitening, the free haircut, or the free facial.  She got extra samples of everything. I was skipped.  I guess they figured one sample wouldn't do me any good and a hundred wouldn't be enough.

On the fourth day while my baby sister was working out in the ship's gym (show off), I made an appointment with the ship's beautician, hair colorist, and on board magician.  I wanted the full treatment, haircut, shampoo, styling, coloring, the works.   I was keelhauling the gray.

While I was sitting in the salon waiting for my appointment, a twenty-something Barbie Doll came in and sat next to me.  The receptionist confirmed that Barbie wanted a pedicure and told me Michaile was running a little behind but it wouldn't be long.

Five minutes later Michaile came over and knelt to eye level with Miss Barbie Dull.

"Oh, such lovely tresses. Surely there is nothing I can do for you but I try.  You are wanting the color with the cut and styling, yes?"

Now why did Michaile just assume I was there for the corns, bunions, and callus sanding and Miss Barbie Dull wanted nice hair?

When Michaile was able to extricate his foot from his mouth, he escorted me to the styling chair and faced me towards the mirror.  I don't know who looked more forlorn in the reflection, me or him.  But to his credit, he worked the cruise ship Magic and we were both happy when I left.

At dinner my sister smiled and said "Well, don't you look nice.  I like your hair."

"Well thank you very much,” and we all sat down to dinner.

 There are a few advantages to being seven years older. I've been where she is but she hasn't been where I am...yet.  Hee hee!.

To Clean or Not to Clean..Is that really a question?

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for a clean sweep 

Why is it that when I schedule the bug man to come and spray our house, I feel the need to go on a massive cleaning spree?  Before I commit to cleaning, increasing the hole in the ozone layer, and ruining my afternoon nap, I should answer the following questions.

1.  How long has the vacuum cleaner been sitting in the living room?  And is that tinsel on the handle? Christmas is just around the corner.
2.  Have the spiders completed mapping the entire universe with their cobwebs?  I'd hate for them to have to start all over.
3. Is the the dust levi about to break around the TV set?
4.  Are the grout lines in the tile even with the tile?
5.  Is the north wall fully insulted with stacked newspapers?  Could be a cold winter coming up.
6.  Are the clothes hanging on the treadmill now 3 sizes too small?  If they stay there, could be good motivation.
7.  Will the bug spray form a protective barrier or create a mudslide?  At least there would not be any more dust.

And most importantly


8.  Do any of the people on his client list know me and will he talk?

If the answer to #8 is yes, I'm donning my haz-mat  suit and going in for the clean-up.  Dirt doesn't stand a chance when it comes to a blabber mouth bug man.

One Picture Needs a Thousand Words

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for Botox, Detox, and orthopedic socks

Ok, I admit it.  I am not the kind of person who spends a lot of time on her looks.  To be totally honest, I am hair and fashion challenged.  However, after this last cruise, I may to have to change my ways, it if is not too late.

My sister is seven years younger than I am.  Growing up, she had to watch every bite she took or she would gain weight.  I could eat hamburgers, malts, French fries AND onion rings and never gains an ounce.  She had naturally curly hair and had to iron it with an iron on the ironing board to get it straight.  Mine was naturally straight with a little wave. 

Recently she and her husband went on a seven day cruise with my husband, me and the nine-year-old and the twelve-year-old.  One of the neat things about a cruise is that there are at least ten photographers with varying backdrops scattered about the ship every evening.  You can have your picture taken as many times as you like and you don't have to buy any of them if you don't want to.

Of course we had to have a family picture the first night. The first night is always the best night for pictures because with ice cream and pizza available 24/7 you will definitely weigh less that first night than the last and your slacks will still touch your ankles.

Now the thing is as you get older, young people get younger. So as we sought the most pleasing background, white with a white chaise lounge, the teeny-bopper photographer began arranging our group.
Dr. Hubby and I were to the right, me seated, then she placed my sister next to me, her husband behind her, and the children placed to the left of her.  I remember thinking "Wonder why she put the children next to my sister?"

She snapped a few pictures then said "Ok, how about one with just the grandparents?"  I looked around to see if our 94 year old mother had sneaked on board but the teeny bopper was looking right at me. 

"Uh, no" I said, and before I could go into a full age discriminatory rage and say anything, she came back with "Ok, just Mom and Dad and the children."  My sister couldn't stop laughing, I couldn't stop fuming, and Dr. Hubby and the children couldn't stop running.

The next morning I found the pictures in the gallery and quickly discarded them.  I told my sister "You better watch out.  These next seven years are going to take their toll on you."

That afternoon she and her husband headed to the gym and exercise room, attended seminars on detoxification, wrinkle removers, and skin care and picked only meals with the little heart emblem next to it at dinner. I ate three bowls of ice cream and made an appointment with Michael-the-South African-Hair-Wonder-Worker, but that is a story for next week. 

Stay tuned to see if it's Carnival Time or Magic Time when I show up at the Cloud 9 beauty salon.

Before I Retired...

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for full time housekeeper, secretary, chauffer

Before I retired, I never had time to watch a sun set.   I didn’t have time to finish filling out the children’s baby books. “That is a good rainy day project when I retire.”  Before I retired, years of photos were piled in boxes waiting to be identified and put into scrapbooks.

Before I retired, I didn’t have time for face to face conversations, only Facebook.  I didn’t have time to volunteer more than a couple of hours at the Treatment Center.  I didn’t have time to study nutrition and learn how to cook and eat healthy.  “I’ll start that when I retire and I’m attending AARP meetings.”

Before I retired, I didn’t have time to learn Mandarin Chinese, or learn how to hook a rug, or learn the tango.  I didn’t have time to read a newspaper all the way through.  I didn’t have time for the Book of the Month Club much less read the book of the month.  Before I retired, I didn’t have time for golf or fishing or painting or just sitting on the porch and drinking iced tea.

Now that I am retired, guess what?

 I still don’t. 

Miss Manners and Graduation

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Tassel Tossing Time

They say the mark of "old age", besides the appearance of many, many brown spots, is when you tell people you walked two miles to school in three feet of snow uphill…both ways…all year… until graduation.  I haven’t reached that point yet, but I do remember graduation as it used to be.

In the beginning, graduation was a solemn and revered event.  There were certain rules of decorum and fashion that had to be followed.  A young man had to wear dress pants under his graduation robe along with a white long sleeved shirt, tie, and shoes.  A young lady had to wear hose, heels, and a white dress under her robe.  They had to act like they were interested in the speaker.

Graduation announcements were sent out inviting people who could actually attend the commencement ceremony. Graduation gifts of clothing, pens, wallest, and luggage were proudly displayed on the dining room table for guests to view.  Formal thank you notes were written in long hand and put into matching envelopes, stamped and mailed within three weeks of graduation.

My, my, how the times have changed. I should have seen it coming.  There were signs, especially when I attended my husband's doctoral graduation exercise.  As each of the doctoral candidates crossed the stage and was draped with the hood of their school and given a diploma, various members of the audience would rise up (some even standing on the stadium seats) and would shout such things as:

"I'm quitting tomorrow!"

"No more Shake and Bake."

"Wahoo, no more coupon cutting!"

"Baloney to baloney."

"Let me eat cake."

At first I thought this was just unique to Texas A&M, but over the years, I started noticing changes in other schools.  Maybe it was because of the streakers of the 70's or lowering the drinking age to 18, but the last few years at the school where I taught, seniors had to pass through a robe check and finger-to-the-nose check before marching in to "Pomp and Circumstance."

Even this year a young man attempted to do a back flip off the stage after receiving his diploma at a university.  He didn't complete the flip, an Aggie would have, but fortunately he was wearing pants under his robe.  I'm not sure I could say that of an Aggie.

When I graduated, my English teacher gave us the history and meaning behind our graduation mortar boards.  I still have my graduation cap carefully preserved in tissue paper. I guess no one does that anymore because at a friend's junior college graduation some of the mortar boards were decked out with flashing lights, glitter, and rolling LED messages.  I'm thinking someone had a hard time with biology...and spelling.

Facebook and E-invites have replaced Hallmark for invitations and in many cases thank you notes are now a blurb on Facebook or a quick Twit.  I now get graduation invitations from three states away. I am glad to hear from my scattered friends and view it more as an announcement than an actual invitation.  Gifts are displayed, if at all, on an end table.  You don't need much room for gift cards.  Flip-flops will replace heels and as likely as not cell phones will be sandwiched in between the pages of the graduation program in their hands.

As I attend graduation ceremonies next week, I'll grin at the shouts coming from parents for I know their relief.  I’ll remember those students that I inwardly shouted for joy when they graduated knowing that they would not be in my class, again, next fall.  I'll laugh at the tops of the decorated mortar boards and hope this new graduating class can spell better than previous classes.  I’ll hope for no injuries in the event of gymnastic type celebrations and pray they are all wearing pants.  I’ll wonder how long the mortar board LED lights will continue to flash after being tossed in the closet or if the hat will even make it that far.

Graduation, for all the changes and continued traditions, is still a time to celebrate and to pause, a time for looking back and looking forward, endings and new beginnings…

…and for  walking two miles to school in three feet of snow uphill…both ways.

 

E.T Can't Phone Home

by Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for smoke and a blanket.

Recently my handicapped son inadvertently agreed to have his phone carrier switched from AT&T to Tin Can and a String.  I have been trying to get it switched back for the past three days.

I wonder what the record is for being put on hold and/or talking to three nationalities? Right now I am at two hours, dealing with three different accents stretched from one hemisphere to the other.  While on hold, I got some good advice from my friends via the internet  for dealing with phone company employees lacking in communication skills.

Thanks to Don I started my converations with "My name is Jody Worsham. I am calling on behalf of my brain injured son. I am recording this conversation. Please state your name and position in Tin Can and String Communications."  With a couple of repetitions and a few supervisors later (plus about an hour of time) there is no longer a contract with Tin Can and String, no penalties, and we are free to reconnect with AT&T.

Fast forward to 12:30 central standard time and my call to AT&T. First I talk to Chris and explain the situation. He  transfers me to Roxanne who says I must give her my son's social security number which I refuse to do since they already had it from the previous twelve years my son had a phone with AT&T. She then tells me I must pay $100 if I do not supply the social security number. I tell her I wish to speak to their Legal Depart, (thanks Rose for that phrase).   Roxie tells me they don't have one. Ha!  I ask to speak to her supervisor. She puts me on hold (about twenty minutes). She comes back and says there will be no $100 fee and I don't have to give her his social security number. She then tells me the earliest they can activate his phone is eight days from now. I explain that we are traveling, I must be able to call my son to remind him to take medications, drink water, and for him to dial 911 in an emergency. She puts me on hold. No music, no weather report, no indication I have not been disconnected.

Fearing my phone is about to go dead, I try to switch phones and drop it. I call AT&T back. I talk to the same machine, I think. I punch numbers. I talk to Sira Lanka who never heard of Christie or Roxie but transfers me to Navarro. I explain the entire situation again.  I have it down to about 10 concise sentences by now. He can't find my address even though I am sitting at my desk with four AT&T phone bills in front of me for two landlines, three cell phones, and a hot spot sent to the exact address I am giving him. I am put on hold. He is back. I am put on hold. He is back. He finds my address. He has the last four numbers of  my son's social security card.
No I will not give him the rest of the number. It is already in the system from the past twelve years son has had the phone. There is no reason At&T needs a social security number. He puts me on hold. He is back. Never mind, he has the number.

"If he doesn't need the same phone number, the connection can be reinstated in less than eight days."

"Fine." I get the new number.

"The connection can be made in seven days." 

"Unacceptable. It must be done tomorrow. Connect me to your supervisor."

"Hold, please...."

wait wait wait.

"We can make the connection in three days.

"Unacceptable. Connect me to another supervisor."

"Hold, please."

"Hay whoa. How you are ?"

"Frustrated." I repeat concise sentences 1-10, with emphasis and careful enunciation on paragraph two from above, leaving town, need to access son at all times, 911 etc.

"I tok wi dee-patcher. Call you back."

Two hours and thirty-one minutes later the phone rings. A recording  asks "Do you have time for a survey as to how AT&T is doing based on your recent interaction?

I put "it"on hold.



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Seeing Spots Before Your Eyes

by Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for 101 Dalmatians 

I was supposed to meet some of the ladies in my church tonight for supper but after glancing in the mirror, I realized I was a walking,talking, appetite suppressant. I shall explain.

When you hit that 70th birthday, and for some it starts even before, your body parts hold a convention.  All the parts that had been functioning nicely and fairly independently of each other for all these decades suddenly feel the need to support each other.  So now when your head hurts, your knees join in.  When you have a touch of heartburn, your intestinal track backs up the heartburn.

As a teenager that golden tan I worked so hard on, now breaks apart into spots of brown in decade number seven which leads me to my current state. I had noticed a tiny brown spot on my facethis morning when I had climbed on top of the bathroom counter to get close enough to the mirror so I could see to put on my make-up.  See how the eyes are joining forces with my skin?  Eyes and skin then sent an urgent message to my brain which was "UGLY!  DERMATOLOGIST!! NOW!"  I immediately called and made an appointment with my dermatologist.

With age I have gained a measure of coping skills when it comes to sitting in a doctors' office. I now bring some kind of meaningful work to fill the time while I am waiting, you know like folding laundry, soap carving, candle making, tanning hydes.  I have noticed I don't have to wait as long. Rather quickly, I was called to the examination room.

I knew I was in trouble when the doctor came in singing the score from "Frozen" wielding her liquid nitrogen gun.  Before I could throw up the deer hyde as a defense, she zapped the tiny brown spot under my eye, the four brown spots on my left cheek, the six on the right cheek, and for no apparent reason other than she was in the middle of "Let It Go", seventeen brown places on both my arms. I'm just glad I was wearing long pants and a high necked shirt and the song did not have any more verses.

By the time I got home I was feeling like a dog shot with rock salt. A glance in the mirror confirmed that I looked like a dog...a Dalmatian.

Even I didn't want any supper after that.  Sorry ladies, another time.




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