DON’T TELL THE KIDS # 9

Being as there are many octogenarians, and a few nonagenarians in the complex, it stands to reason that we still wish to maintain a semblance of independence.  My husband Roger, is now a proud nonagenarian.   And so it was with said husband who too would wish to do something independent of me.  A trip to Sonora Laboratory for blood work seemed like an easy test.
Bright and early one morning, he got on his cell phone and called Uber.  “We will be there in seven minutes,” they told him, and true to their word they arrived at our door in exactly that time.
As I waved goodbye to said husband, I prayed he would do well on his first venture out on his own.  . Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang.
“This is me,” he said.  “I can’t make my cell phone work to call Uber.”
“Wait right there, and I’ll have our Good Samaritan neighbor Bob come and pick you up.  Goodbye.”  Then I rushed over to Bob’s house.
No more than ten minutes later Bob and I arrived at the Lab.
“He will probably be sitting out front waiting for us,” I cautioned Bob.  “He would rather be in the sunshine than in an air conditioned room.”
There was an available parking spot right in front of the Lab, as a green taxi-cab was just pulling away.
Not seeing anyone waiting outdoors, I went  inside.
“Do you have an elderly gentleman here who needs a ride home,?” I asked.
“We just put him in a taxi,” the person behind the desk informed me.
“Thank you very much,” I said as I rushed back to the car.  “He’s on his way home in a taxi.   He was probably in that taxi that just left.”
We drove the two miles back home.  There in the driveway sat a bright green taxi, with said husband sitting relaxed in the back seat.
“Just signing the credit card,” he said.
All was well.  Our nonagenarian was safely home.
“You hung up the phone before I could  tell you that I had a ride home,” he scolded.
“Don’t bawl him out,” reminded our Good Samaritan.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I promised, “but for heaven’s sake, don’t tell the kids.

NEW KID ON THE BLOCK

Meet your new neighbor Gerda, (pronounced Getta) Rei-ker-storfer.  She has actually been in the Village since March, but just now finished unpacking.
Getta was born in Munich, Germany in 1940.  She came to the U.S. at age 17, and married a G.I.  Oxnard, California was their home, where they raised two children; a son Robert, and daughter Sandra.

In 1983 Getta went back to Munich and found work in sales with an English Clothing Co.  Her grown children remained in California, and she came to visit them often.  The children likewise visited Germany often, so the family link was  never broken.

Getta married a German man in 1989, who passed away in 2002.
When Getta’s daughter, who works for Wells Fargo, transfered from Sacramento to Mesa in August of 2016, she decided to leave Germany and come back to the U.S. to be near her family.  She arrived in November of 2016, and came to live with her daughter and son-in-law, and their two children.  Like so many of us, we cherish our independence, so after four months, Getta came here to the Village.  She loves the fact that her family is only five minutes away, and is with them most every weekend.  You may see her walking early in the morning as she recuperates from major surgery.

I checked the sign-up-sheet today and see that Getta is signed up to host coffee with Donna Norton next week, so you can see we have made her feel very welcome!  We hope you do the same.

THE PROPER WAY TO EAT CORN ON THE COB

Late May and early June is sweet-corn time in Arizona, as opposed to late August in Michigan where I come from.  I doubt there are few Americans who do not look forward to those days.  I know we do.  And we don’t need a steady diet of corn on the cob when it is season.  A couple of meals of it, and we are satisfied until next year.  But those two meals are a delight to be remembered.
We had our second treat of the season for dinner last night, and It occurred to me how different my husband and I go about enjoying that treat.
Myself, I need no butter on my corn, nor salt and pepper.  I eat mine plain and hot.  My husband on the other hand, slathers his with butter, spreading it evenly with a knife, and letting the butter melt down over the entire ear.
We have dandy little corn holders, so our fingers never touch this delectable cereal plant.  Our kids preferred to just nibble around the edges, thus creating hand holds.  They had to be careful however, as corn on the cob is usually very hot.  If they could wait, they would eat the rest of their meal first, and then dive in to the corn.
As we ate our dinner last night, I decided to do a little research to see if everyone eats corn on the cob in the same way.  The two of us eat it in our own special way.  He eats his round and round, like a gopher with cheek pouches.  I am certain he enjoys it immensely, especiall when the butter goes dripping down his wrists.  “When this happens,” says Emily Post, “use your napkin to wipe it off.”  Dah!  His process is slower than mine, but he does a cleaner job.
I eat my corn on the cob, along the cob from  one end to the other, like you’re playing a harmonica, or typing on an old fashioned typewriter.  I always was fairly good on those old fashioned machines, and eating corn on the cob is no different.

Here is an interesting experiment.  Watch to see if your family eats across or around the cob.  Or.  Count the rows of kernels on any ear of corn.  You will almost always come up with an even number.  I tried it to determine who was getting the nicest ear.
My Google research came up with some food for thought, no  pun intended.  If you are over 50 and eat this carb, you will never lose your belly fat.  And if you have no teeth, ask a friend or Care Giver to cut the corn off the cob, though stripping with a knife or spoon is considered nearly sacrilegious.
Emily Post states in her advise column on HOW TO EAT CORN ON THE COB WITHOUT GROSSING EVERYONE O UT, is “just take a bite or two at a time, rather than chomping back and forth, or spinning it around like a roller.”  Her best advise is to “watch the other diners, follow along, and enjoy.”
My research tells me that psychologists say, “it is likely that the rotary type corn on the cob eater is creative, artistic, and right brained.  They don’t say what the typewriter method corn on the cob eater, like me, is likely to be.
Just so you know.  If you are around me when I am enjoying my seasonal treat, don’t be surprised if at the end of the row, you hear a loud, DING!

VILLAGE SUMMER HAPPENINGS

Never let it be said that or Mama’s raised a bunch of dummies.  When the Saturday morning coffee drinkers arrived at the clubhouse and found the doors locked and no coffee brewing, did they fret an stew?  Heck no.  They promptly piled into four suddenly available vans, and headed for Rochester’s at Sunland Village.  It turned out to be a send-off to Betty Carlson, her daughter Susan, and Shirley Feinman.  The food was good, the service friendly.  Who knows?  We may try that route again this summer.  That might teach Roger Weeks not to stay in bed Saturday morning.  He missed all the fun.

Welcome Bob Tudjan back to the Village.  He purchased #62 from Roger and Peggy Bordwordt, and moved in May 1st.  He just could not get along without the party animals around here.

The summer T.G.I.Thursday get-togethers have started up again.  I did not take a head count, but it looked to be about 18 or 20 there for the extra good food.  If you plan to be in town for a day or two this summer, be sure to book your stay over aThursday  Ther’s always room for one or two more.

ROGER WEEKS TURNS 90

Our girls and I were happy to have an excuse to give a party, as we celebrated Roger’s 90th birthday at the clubhouse.  Three daughters, fourteen grandchildren, and six great grandchildren came from Michigan, Kentucky, Texas, S. Carolina, and various Arizona locations to celebrate with us, as well as many friends from the Village and church.
Punch and Mimosa were served along with sandwiches from Panera Breads.   A lovely cake was purchased from Basha’s.   A beautiful bouquet of red roses was presented to Roger from our four children, twenty three grandchildren, and seventeen great grandchildren.
Granddaughter Christine Sharber led us on the piano in a Happy Birthday song, and accompanied me as I attempted to serenade Roger in song with my version of Goodnight My Someone, from the Music Man.  It went something like this.
A COUPLE OF KIDS
They say you’re ninety, it can’t be true.
To me you’re still a young twenty two.
We met as children, we’ll always be,
A couple of kids, you and me.

We made our vows, in the sight of God.
The years flew by, in a twinkling nod.
And when I’m ninety, you’ll be ninety three.
A couple of kids, you and me.


As residents of The Village @ Apache Wells for the last 23 years, we wish to thank you, our extended family for making this birthday, a special one.

NEW LIBRARY STOOL

We have a new squatty stool in our library, thanks to the generosity of Charlie Bogart from the Apache Wells Woodshop, who donated the materials and built the stool.  It is a masterpiece.  Thanks also to Reta Reed who donated the upholstery fabric and upholstered the cushioned seat.  Now perhaps we will be able to find those hard to reach books on the very bottom shelves, as we sit on the caster locking backless stool.
Thanks neighbors. The locking caters and the rest of the materials were paid for by the social Committee.

CHAIR YOGA

You never know what you’ll find these days when you stop by the clubhouse unannounced.  Roger and I dropped by the Library to relax and kill a little time.  We found fifteen or so villagers, all seated on folding chairs, arms swaying in ballet fashion, following the directions of a cute little gal up front, with a soft soothing voice, and the face of an Angel.  The participants appeared very intent on their routine as I joined in to see what it was all about.

Turns out, Barbara Ostrander from Minnesota was visiting her parents, Paul and Lorie Billehus, and volunteered to conduct a few Chair Yoga sessions for any and all who wished to participate.

Visiting with Barb after the session, I learned that she first became involved with Yoga by just following a tape.  Now she is a famous instructor  in the art.  We are told that Yoga helps with functional muscles, is great for any age or sex and reduces stress.  We are very fortunate to have Barbara donate her time to us while visiting.   Though she looks to be about twenty five, she told me she is married and has two sons, age 23 and 25.

Perhaps we Seniors should take Chair Yoga more seriously.  I for one am always looking for ways to reduce stress.  How about you

LADIES OUT TO LUNCH

Nancy Curtis and Maggie Green outdid themselves this time, as they led 29 ladies to a new place for our 2017 lunch.  The Bistro a’ la mode at Stonebridge Manor off McDowell Rd. was the chosen spot.

First built in 1979 as a private home for the Carl Jensen family, one of the original founders of an aloe vera company named Forever Living Products, the residence has changed hands several times.  It was eventually purchased by childhood friends Michael Mills and Jim Flake.  After extensive remodeling, the home was opened as a wedding and reception facility.  The first wedding was held on May 15, 1998.

We ladies were very impressed as we were allowed to tour the expansive facility and dream of a wedding there.  Perhaps in our next life, girls.
Our thanks go to Nancy and Maggie for introducing us to this awesome place.  They will have to go some to top this February 15 adventure.  Even the food and prices were impressive.

SORRY!

SORRY!
My apologies to Donna Smith for inadvertently leaving her name off the group who put on the neat Walking Taco party.  You have to watch me these days.  I know just enough to be dangerous.
Mary.

DON'T TELL THE KIDS

At our age, the dangers of the kids shipping us off to the Glue Factory, are on the horizon, and so I have come up with a column of collections of things not to tell the kids; just for our own protection.
This one was told to me by a neighbor, but I was not given permission to print it.  We will just call it anonymous.

While visiting friends, my neighbor used their rest-room facilities.  When she pulled up her slacks, she noticed that the back pockets were on her knees.  But Don't Tell The Kids.

If you have any Don't Tell the Kids experiences, why not share them?  I will try to get them on the Blog for you.
Here is one of my most recent ones.
DON'T TELL THE KIDS #4

DON’T TELL THE KIDS #4
Much of my writings of DON’T TELL THE KIDS can be categorized as B.S., before  stroke, or A.S. after  stroke.  Or perhaps all of it should be just plain, B.S.

And so I am having this conversation with my son-in-law.
“Thanks for the use of your car this weekend, Mom.  I think we have pretty much blown the stink out of it.  But you will need an oil change and lube soon.”
“Darn,” I said.  “I hate that job since Dad has had his stroke.”
“No big deal,” says son-in-law.  “Just take it to Walmart.  They are only five minutes away.  You don’t need an appointment.  You can drive it in, and leave it with them for an hour or so, and be right there when it is finished.  They have a nice waiting room where dad can wait, have a coffee and read a magazine, while you pick up your prescriptions and some groceries.”
“That sounds about our speed,” I told him.  “We will do that tomorrow.”
Monday morning bright and early, we took off for Walmart.
I suppose I should tell you that B. S.(before stroke) Roger had a wonderful sense of direction.  As for myself, I could not find my way out of a telephone booth.  Do they still have telephone booths?
At any rate, we read the signs at Walmart for the Service Entrance.  They took us around the building and into a door that read Oil Change.  After faking my way through as to what grade of oil I wanted, and other things the car would need, I deposited Roger in the waiting room and took off like a shot.  After all, I did not have too much time to accomplish all I needed to do.  But not to worry.  The nice young man at the service counter told me that Roger would be just fine in the waiting room, and that they would call me when my car was ready.
Okay.
First things first.  Get the prescription for the Cumadin.  That was most important.  Then pick up the few groceries on my list.
My tasks completed, I headed back to the Service Department just as the car was ready.  I paid the bill, we piled in the car and drove out the designated door.  The arrow took us round the building and to an Exit sign.  By now I am turned around.
“Which way do I turn?” I ask.
“Turn left,” he said
I automatically follow his instructions.  After all, I had no idea which way to turn.  At the next stop light, Roger said, “Turn right.”
Right we turned and followed that street for a long way.
I think we are going the wrong way,” I told him.
“NO.  Keep going.  The Falcon Field Airport should be just around the corner.”
“That’s good,” I told myself.  “Falcon Field is practically out our back door.”
“Here’s the airport,” Roger announced happily. “But we are somehow on the wrong side of it.  We need to turn around.”
Turn around I did, and we were finally on a street that looked familiar.  The rest of the way home, I found on my own.  What should have been a five minute drive, turned out into a half hour trip.
BUT DON’T TELL THE KIDS.

Last summer potluck

September 22, 2016,  marked the date for our last of the summer potlucks.  We chose steaks as our entr'ee, while Roger Spencer and Mike Halvorson did the honors on the outdoor grills.
Twenty two year round folks attended and enjoyed the always delectable food from our commendable cooks.  We have enjoyed having Mary Lanphere with us this summer.  She always comes up with especially good food.  And we can't neglect giving Dolly, Jean, Donna N., Dorothy, Reta, Jan, Donna R., and all the rest, their fair share of praise.  They are "Cooks Exemplar."

We were entertained with the reading of two poems from THE SONG OF THE LAZY FARMER, namely, AVOIDING WORK, and FILLIN' UP ON GREENS.  We would liked to have read the  poem, LIFE GETS TEE'JUS, DON'T IT? but we only have one verse.  It goes like this.
Sun comes up, and the sun goes down.
The hands on the clock keep goin' around.
I just get up, and it's time to lay down.
Life gets tee'jus, don't it?

Anybody know the rest of the poem?  Thanks.

YEP, YEP, YEP

Yep, yep, yep, yep barked the Auctioneer, like a couple of coyotes talking to each other, as he encouraged the bidder to bid just one dollar more.

The occasion was the Friday auction at 157 E. Broadway, in Mesa.  I had been invited by a friend to accompany her to the adventure.  "It will be fun," she promised.  And it was fun.  I took along my folding chair, having been warned that there would be constant standing.

the Mesa Auction has been in existence since 1958, though I had just recently heard about it.  They have two auctions every Friday. The morning 9:00 A.M. auction is for misc., tools, and collectables.  6:30 P.M. auction is for home furnishings and appliances.  An interested costumer may visit the facility on Thursday or early Friday morning or on-line, at www.mesaauction.net to view the available items that week.

My friend and I arrived about 9:00 A.M. , where she immediately paid a $50.00 cash refundable deposit for a bidder's paddle.  All sales would be final.  The Auctioneer stands behind, or sometimes, on top of the table where small items are collected in card-board boxes, and begins the bidding.  I watched in fascination, as box after box was sold to the highest bidder, with just the nod of a head.  When two or more were bidding on the same item, the Auctioneer began his Yep, Yep, Yep pointing from one bidder to the other.  It was apparent that most of those bidding had done this before, as they knew when to hold up the bidder's paddle and nod, and when to keep their hand down and their face straight.

The Auctioneer moved from table to table filled boxes, and the crowd moved with him.  If they were in a section , like toys, for instance, those not interested in those particular items, moved on to another more interesting section.

When a bidder tired of the whole deal, and if he/she had been successful in buying an item, they went to the office, turned in their bidder's paddle, and applied their $50.00 registration fee toward the purchases, or receive a refund if their purchases were less than the registration amount.

It was an eye opening experience for this old lady, and one I would recommend to the Snow Birds some Friday this coming winter.  Who knows?  You may buy a precious antique, or maybe even a manure spreader!