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Shoot Me Before I Become Trapped by Tradition!

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I’ll be one of the first to admit that some traditions are very comforting. Perhaps even comfortable. There’s nothing better than a morning cup of coffee unless it’s that same cup of java consumed in total silence. I love it when our “girls” are both in my lap as I sip it’s deliciousness. Ahhh… Just thinking about that feels wonderful!

Kissing my hubby good-morning, good-bye, good-night and even occasionally for no apparent reason at all. Yeah, that’s nice, too. We even hold hands as we walk into a local restaurant. In most cases that’s nice, too.

Nothing compares to talking to my Savior when I have a chance. Yes, I pray even as I drive down the road. My prayers certainly aren’t restricted to those times and it seems that I visit with Him more with each passing year. That particular tradition has been, literally, a lifesaving one.

Could there be anything better than hugging those I love? Probably not. Top it off with saying and hearing those most beautiful words, “I love you”–and, for me, you have heaven on earth!

Yes, life wouldn’t be the same without some tradition. There is a point, however, where I hope never to go.

If there is a time when I must sleep on the same color sheets; if I have to skip my coffee because I’ve overslept by five minutes; if I begin eating my morning cereal out of the same bowl and those cereals must be layered in a certain order (rather than being mixed up as they are now)… If I ever get to the point when I feel compelled to follow a list of ritualistic behaviors before going to bed…then I beg you…just shoot me!

Put me out of my misery so that I don’t become further trapped by the things which were, no doubt, placed in my life to offer temporary shelter, solace, and some vague sence of order.

Don’t let the very things that were likely placed within me as a soft, flemsible endoskeleton harden to make me inflexible and rigid. When these kinds of behaviors cascade down upon the person I am, deterioration has, indeed, begun! And, at that point, I’ll likely be having much less fun!

So, if I’ve ceased to be free…I’ve ceased to be ME! And if you see that particular nightmare is coming to pass–PLEASE… put a round in the chamber and just shoot me!

Gramma’s Drinking Thick Water! Will It Kill Her?

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We were visiting our “kids” (who aren’t really kids) and their kids (who really are) for Christmas. That’s always an experience in and of itself. And, I love every minute of it! For as long as I can remember, though, I’ve had kind of a target on my back…and front (so far as my son and his wife are concerned, that is). Some of the pleasure in their lives is found in teasing “Mom.” Yeah, they harass, throw verbal barbs, and generally make fun of my many idiosyncrasies.

These two lovable nut-bars seem to enjoy finding things about me that are strange (and there’s quite a selection, to be honest). There are plenty of areas in which I fall short (like memory when we play UNO, etc.). My senior citizenship has provided them with plenty of material most recently, and that was the case here.

As a Weight Watcher, I have to focus on drinking a minimum of six cups of water every day. Sadly, I’ve found that, if left to my own yearnings, I wouldn’t drink that much because I only drink when I’m thirsty. I’ve never awakened from a sound night’s sleep thinking about how great it would be to guzzle water cup after cup. So, I have to make a deliberate attempt to drink water. One 2-cup bottle gets me started in the morning. At least that’s my intent. Then, I usually fill my 32-ounce bottle with the rest of my requirement.

Sadly, some maladies of old age have recently struck! One attack of diverticulitis was plenty! I’ve read (and heard from my doctor) that the best way to fight the reoccurrence of diverticulitis symptoms, is to increase fiber intake. So, fiber has now become my friend! (Yeah, right!) But, it seems that the fiber in the food I eat isn’t enough! I’ve been forced to start supplementing it with the powdery white stuff that stirs into liquids without adding either taste or grit. Sounds delicious, huh?

When I first get up in the mornings, I add about one and a half teaspoons of the white stuff to a bottle of water and give it a shake. Naturally my son was aware of all this preparation so when Jesse (grandson #2) reached for my first bottle of the day in hopes of snagging a sip or two, his dad said, “Jess, you don’t really want any of that. Gramma is drinking thick water.”

At that point, I filled in with a bit of explanation. At least it was enough to wipe the confused expression off of Jesse’s face. Just the thought of “thick water” truly is sort of disgusting I must admit but, in the end, instead of killing me, it’s my hope to both lengthen and enhance the quality of my life. We won’t discuss the “jet propulsion” which the increased fiber inevitably provides for THAT is always quite embarrassing.