AND THE BEAT GOES ON...CHILDREN!

2007-10-01T19:20:00Z

AND THE BEAT GOES ON...CHILDREN

An excerpt from THE GOLDEN YEARS...MY ASS!: As Told By The Savvy Old Lady(c)

As all parents know, once you have children, you spend a lifetime of waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you're lucky these shoe-drops happen only occasionally, but when you have five kids the cumulative effect of even an annual shoe-drop per kid can really take its toll on your nerves, wallet and gray cells. It seems that you no sooner have one ridiculous situation under control when a second one appears on the horizon. Being blessed with five children just seems to give me more shoe-drops than the average 1.5 child family. Wait a minute; haven't you always wanted someone to please explain what the 0.5 child means? The only thing that comes to my mind is that every family is blessed with at least one half wit child, you know, this is the one with the most "brain farts". Maybe the children all take turns in being the half wit just to keep their parents adrenaline flowing! And the really amazing part is that usually the child with the most "brain farts" turns out to be the surgeon, lawyer or engineer in the family.

Several weeks went by without an emergency phone call from any one of our five angels. I was beginning to get nervous. Okay, God, thank you for the respite, but I just know the odds are stacked against me and that pesky phone call will be coming soon. I was right again; (why couldn't I be this clairvoyant when it came to picking out the numbers in the seventy-three million dollar lottery?); this time it was, as Charlie Chan would say, Number One Son, the medical student. I still can't figure out why when these kids have a problem they always call me and not their father. Perhaps it's simply because over the years I have perfected the caring sympathetic voice they need and want to hear instead of their dad's infamous one liner..."What in the hell are you talking about you numb skull; you did what?" Or maybe it's just their way of getting back at me for making them do their own laundry and daily K-P duty.

My first born started this conversation with that sad puppy dog sigh he is famous for, (the one he inherited from his father), and I knew I would be off and running for the bed covers again. All I could think was that I was definitely getting tooooooo old for this little repartee. These phone calls are not just straight forward conversations like, "Mom, this and that happened. What do you think I should do?" Nope, they are almost like a long, intricate symphony that has to be played out with fine tuned instruments. No one ever gets to the point in the first five minutes unless they think they are dying. So following the usual pattern, I answered all of his questions regarding his father's health and my health, the cat's well-being, the difference in the weather patterns between the West and East coasts of Florida and what we had for dinner the last three nights. Then I knew it was my turn to cut to the chase and ask what the problem was, which in turn he would reply, three times, "nothing". After this little scenario played out we got to an acknowledgment that something was amiss but then the age old reply "I don't want to talk about it" was in play. Yah, sure, that's exactly why he called me! Not to talk about it. If I were really smart at this point in the performance I should have simply replied, "Okay, dear. I gotta go feed the cat." and hung up. However, being a mother I knew this call would eat away at me for the next twenty-four hours if I didn't find out what the problem was and try to fix it. Guess I just never learned to avoid the obvious; small wonder I've lived a lifetime with stomach problems and a drained-brain. Finally he worked up the courage to say, "I've had a really, really bad day today." Okay, sonny boy, join the club you're talking to Mrs. Bleak and Broke here with a husband who hasn't had a great day since he left the hustle and bustle of the corporate world.

Still I kept my silence, (which for me is not an easy thing to do), and inquired about the particulars of his bad day. "Well Mom, you do remember two months ago I borrowed some money and purchased a brand new, (very expensive), Macintosh lap top computer, with all the bells and whistles necessary for me to take notes in my classes? You'll never believe this, (OH YES I WILL), but I fried all the circuits in the computer today and now it's a piece of junk and I have no computer." "Now sweetie, I am sure that since the computer is only two months old, you must have some type of warranty on it and either they will repair it or replace it for you. See isn't that simple enough?" Yes, I blew it again. I could have hung up at this time, but I'm a glutton for kid-punishment. His next words would have had me rolling on the floor howling if I didn't realize that Dad and I were going to have to reach deep down into our pockets and replace his lap top. In a very serious, quiet voice he said "Mom, I dropped a human brain on my lap top today!" Hmmm, that one sure shocked me, just when I thought I heard it all, the rug rat came up with a new one! He did hasten to add that it was a cadaver brain. Whew, that made me feel a bit better about it." "Well dear, just be happy you're a first year medical student and it wasn't a live brain fresh and warm from some poor person's head. Besides, how much can a human brain weigh? I'm sure it must be repairable, the computer, I mean." "Mom, if it were just the weight of the brain and tissue oozing into the keyboard it wouldn't have been a problem. The problem was the brain was soaked in formaldehyde. The formaldehyde seeped into the computer and bye, bye circuits." As I sat there contemplating the dilemma, I realized once again we were financially shot down by another "B" word, this time it was brain. Now, I was not only concerned about the added expense of buying another computer for him I was now wondering if the Medical School lab attendant was going to make us replace "the Brain". Damn maybe I can donate mine. No too many missing brain cells. After spending the next ten minutes trying to console my son, and not burst into a fit of half-amazed and half-relieved laughter, we finally ended the conversation.

Next was the interesting part, how in the world did I tell The Crabby Old Guy about the latest catastrophe to befall our meager savings? Perhaps, I should get in the car and drive a couple hundred miles away and call him from my cell phone. That would give him at least three hours to cool down before I got back home. But I was in no mood to drive and "Grey's Anatomy" was going to be on TV in a few minutes and I didn't want to miss that (bet they couldn't come up with a story line like this) so I just sat him down and blurted it out. The only saving grace was that after dear hubby's vein stopped throbbing in his forehead and the apoplectic red flush left his face, he informed me that this story would be told at medical cocktail parties for the next twenty years. So it was, in his rationalization, worth the money. Friends and past colleagues after hearing this story urged Crabby to write to Steve Jobst or someone at Apple Computers asking if they had ever received a repair request for a lap top that had been destroyed by a human brain. To date, no reply...they're probably all laughing their asses off, while writing down my son's name and advising all their relatives to beware of this future surgeon.

Living La Dolce Vita In Our Twilight Years!

2007-07-25T01:32:00Z

LIVING LA DOLCE VITA IN OUR TWILIGHT YEARS!
Excerpted from "The Golden Years...My Ass!: As Told By The Savvy Old Lady" (c)

By
THE SAVVY OLD LADY (c)
Joan Giorgianni

Sal, The Crabby Old Guy, a.k.a. my hubby, and I were once again sitting at the kitchen table, he drinking his coffee and I sipping my tea, (sounding like ma with her kerchief and pa with his cap) when suddenly he looked at me as if he had just received divine inspiration and said "Joan you have to start doing something now that we are retired!" I almost choked back the laughter. "I am," I said "I'm breathing, remember that old "Staying Alive" song, well that's me, and I just keep humming "Staying Alive, Staying Alive, uh, uh, uh Staying Alive." He was not amused. "No Joan, I mean you really have to start doing something productive." "Well for your information I am doing something productive upstairs." "No Joan, that's not what I mean, hiding in your quilting/computer/TV/telephone/smoking room is definitely, not being productive."   "Oh yes it is, I'm writing a story. Hmmm, well it started out as a story then it turned into a diary and now I think it's become a tad bit more." An incredulous look crossed the old boy's face and he practically choked out "You mean your writing a book? A BOOK?"

Despite the tone I wasn't offended and simply muttered, "Well sort of a book, you see, when I finish it I am going to put it in a shoe box and place it in a safety deposit box for my heirs, that way they will at least inherit something from me besides the cat. You know all our other assets will be inherited by the Bank" In shock he said, "What kind of book is it?" "Well, I call it "The Golden Years...My Ass!" I read somewhere it's cathartic for someone to get all frustrations off their chest by putting their feelings down on paper. So I just sit in front of my computer and bang out the words. Just ask Oprah or Dr. Phil about the cleansing of the soul and mind." I've finally come to the realization that there are so, so many people all across the globe that have taken an early retirement (some much younger than us and without any benefits) who were just not ready to stop their careers.  I felt it was necessary to speak out in a loud voice for the hundreds of thousands of families who are going through this unexpected phase in their so-called Golden Years and help them see the humorous side of this life change. Even for those who retired "on schedule" the Golden Years seemed to hold some interesting unexpected events that needed a touch of humor to get through. Yes, The Crabby Old Guy and I were lucky, his early retiement package provided financial security and we were doing quite well. But what about all the others? We personally knew of hundreds of people and read about thousands more who because of changes in company structures were left with no options and no financial security.  I can't even imagine how many people there are that go to bed every night wondering how they are going to pay their mortgage, food bills, electrical bills, medical bills and send their children off to college.

I could see in Sal's eyes he didn't believe me for one moment. The next words that popped out of his mouth could have been his last if it hadn't been for that damn pension. "Dear, are you planning sequels to your book?" Okay, that's it, I've had it. In the sweetest voice I could conjure up, I said, "Yes, dear of course, its called the 'My Ass Series' and book number two will be, "I Gotta Love the Pain In My Ass", book number three will be, "Children, Neighbors, Relatives and Pets Up My Ass" and the piece de resistance and final book will be, "The World Can Kiss My Ass". Ah, the Golden Years, you gotta love them, especially as told by a grandmother on steroids (okay FDA don't get nervous I'm not pumping iron) rather corticosteroids for all the inflammation in these old bones!   Oh, Hell, maybe, I should just volunteer for our churches Funeral Ministry Program that definitely would brighten up all my future days!

[This is the first of a series of excerpts from my book "The Golden Years...My Ass! As Told By The Savvy Old Lady."   Subscribe or keep checking my website www.thesavvyoldlady.com for future installments...Hugs! ]

The Golden Years...My Ass! Excerpts

AND THE BEAT GOES ON...CHILDREN!

Living La Dolce Vita In Our Twilight Years!