All posts in category aging

I Left My Eyebrows in Florida

Last week Bob and I whisked away from sunny Orlando to see New York City at Christmastime. I’m not a huge fan of that city’s large crowds, but there are things there that you can’t find anywhere else, especially at Christmas. They know how to do it up right and bright.

We had a few things booked, and it’s a good thing they were not too highbrow, because I forgot my eyebrow pencil. The last decade has realized a drastic decrease in my use of makeup – I guess, for me, that’s part getting older and part chronically dry eyes. The plus side, over the last several years, I’ve saved so much money on make-up that we could take this trip.

My one make-up hold-out is eyebrow pencil. I’m a pale, white woman. I tell Bob that I wear eyebrow pencil so I can be seen (not in the woke way). If it snowed while we were there, I was concerned that I’d get lost in white-out conditions and Bob wouldn’t be able to find me, especially since I wore a white coat. I mean, what was I thinking?

It didn’t snow, but it did rain. That did not stop us from doing all the things. Uber was meant for rainy days, and we took one to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. Walking in the rain around Ground Zero fit the mood.

There is a somberness there that I have only felt a few times before – once while going through the Holocaust Museum in D.C. and once while we visited Dachau concentration camp in Germany. Ground Zero is a place that, if possible, you must see for yourself as it cannot be adequately explained. As we walked through the museum there was a respectful silence despite the thousands of people passing the memorials, displays, pictures, and stories. I’m glad this was an early stop on our trip.

I confess that we had a few highbrow activities planned, and that was concerning due to my lack of eyebrow pencil. But I was determined not to buy any. So, I went bare faced and they let me in!


Radio City Music Hall orchestra before the show

We had tickets to see the Rockettes for their 100th anniversary and Christmas show. I loved it! The music, the costumes, dozens of Santa Clauses, high-kicking ladies, the Christmas story complete with live camels. Glorious! It’s a special thing for me as a Christian when I see and hear Bible stories presented in non-church settings. That’ll preach! The Bible says in Isaiah 55:11 “so also is my word. I send it out, and it always produces fruit. It shall accomplish all I want it to and prosper everywhere I send it.”

There is a thing in NYC called the Broadway Direct Lottery. You enter online between 9:00 AM and 3:00 PM for cheap tickets for the next day. I won twice. I know! We went to a matinee of Aladdin and an evening performance of Six (six wives of Henry VIII).


Aladdin curtain call

I especially loved Aladdin. It has that classical Broadway musical thing going strong, and it’s a great family show. Again, eyebrow pencil was not required to go into these relatively highbrow functions.

We brought DOWN AND OUT AND READY FOR A MIRACLE to see Operation Mincemeat. No binoculars required. Our seats were fine.

Honestly, going to a show is not the dress-up event that it once was, and I like that fine. It’s more than shoes and shirts are required, but you see all manner of dress – anything from jeans to semi-formal wear. Nobody cares, so I quickly recovered from forgetting my eyebrow pencil, and Bob never lost me!

4 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on December 13, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Down and Out and Ready for a Miracle, Holidays
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on December 13, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/12/13/i-left-my-eyebrows-in-florida/

Celebrating the Launch of My New Book

Exciting News: Down and Out and Ready for a Miracle is Now Available!

Cheers!

I am thrilled to announce the release of my latest book! After many months (okay, years) of dedication, procrastination, creativity, and passion, my new work is officially available to readers everywhere. This book represents a slice of life of those who are reaching their finish line and is inspired by my husband’s family. The story follows Jacko, a middle-aged homeless man, as he forms connections with a disjointed group of senior citizens—especially the unpredictable Oscar—experiencing humor, heartache, and inspiration along the way. Jacko learns that you are never too old to start again, especially if you find a community that will come alongside you despite the crazy and possibly dangerous friends which have become a package deal for him. Laughter and tears are inevitable as two ways of life collide in a delightful and quirky neighborhood which most people have forgotten.

Themes

This new book delves into themes of personal growth, friendship, family, faith, and aging. Readers are invited to follow Jacko as he inserts himself into the life of Oscar and his neighbors. With his not-so-well-meaning friends bringing chaos along the way and threatening his hope of a new life, Jacko learns to trust and find faith in others and God.

Availability

Available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

Get your copy today and join me on this new adventure!

Down and Out and Ready for a Miracle: Anderson, Bonnie Manning: 9781948824514: Amazon.com: Books

3 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on November 10, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Down and Out and Ready for a Miracle, Stuff I Go Through, Writing
Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on November 10, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/11/10/celebrating-the-launch-of-my-new-book/

Candid but not on Camera

This past year has brought some physical challenges to Bob and me. You might say that our accumulation of birthdays is catching up with us. Bob had neck surgery last year and gets regular shots in his fingers for arthritis. He has various aches and pains that are consistent with a healthy guy in his early seventies.

I get weirder stuff – things that I can barely find the words to describe so that makes it hard to find what doctor to talk to. Everybody is a specialist, but I wish there were a doctor of weirdology. Somebody that you can talk to about those in-between places that have no specialist of their own. I guess that’s the PCP (primary care physician).

I have had some complaints over the last few years, but they were resolved with PT, or I just gave up on figuring them out. But last year when my knees started acting up, it was just a matter of time before I had to find a knee guy – an orthopedic, if you will. I had two meniscus repairs in one knee and the promise of the other knee needing work down the road. I will wait that out as long as possible.

But now I have a new body part acting up. Bob and I went down our list of doctors and realized that we have an eye doctor, a dentist, a chiropractor, a primary care physician, a neck guy, a shoulder guy, a hand guy, a back guy, and a knee guy. We have no hip guy, and it’s time to find one. I thought my knee pain was radiating up, but it seems it’s hip pain radiating down. Sigh. Either way, I’m not walking as straight as I used to.

Facebook got wind of my growing hip pain and is doing its level best to fill my feed with all the hip reliefs they have to offer, but I’m not ready to bite. Fool me once…

It’s clear I could have arthritis, bursitis, tendinopathy, or maybe even rheumatism. It’s most likely an “itis” or an “ism,” and I’m going to have to figure it out. I remember having growing pains as a kid, now it seems there are growing old pains. I expect some of that, but come on!

I have made adjustments in the way I function since my knee surgery back in May. I can’t kneel on my left knee and squatting is a bad idea, but mostly I get along just fine.

Mostly being the operative word. A few nights back I was struggling to sleep so I popped in an earbud and listened to The Big Bang Theory. I used to watch the show if I couldn’t sleep, but since Bob struggles to go to sleep with the TV on and I love to go to sleep with my eyes closed and the TV on, using earbuds and my phone has been revolutionary for our marriage.

Until one morning Bob left early for a meeting, and I dropped my earbud on the bed. I got up, turned the light on and put on my glasses. It was nowhere. I shook the sheet and felt a little plop on my foot, which indicated the earbud bounced off it and went under the bed. Our bed has about an inch of clearance from the frame to the floor, so I slipped my fingers underneath. Nothing. I stood back and shined a flashlight under but could see nothing. The only way to really check was to get on the floor. I haven’t been on the floor since January.

Of course, I could have waited for Bob, but I thought, how hard can it be?

Getting down was tricky but I did it. Unfortunately, it was a waste of time because the earbud had gone under the nightstand, and I could have reached that by bending at the waist. In all fairness to me, the sun wasn’t even up yet, and I was not fully awake, therefore, my decision-making skills were not intact.

So there I was – sitting on the floor wondering how to get up. I can’t kneel on my left knee and my right hip is acting wonky, so I could feel myself getting anxious. It’s not a true emergency. Bob would be home in another two hours. Maybe I could just grab a pillow and sleep on the floor. No, those days are over. I calmed myself and grabbed a pillow, placed my right knee on it with authority and hoisted myself up.

I am glad we don’t have any security cameras in our bedroom as I’m sure that was not pretty, but it worked. I didn’t feel proud of myself for this amazing feat of strength and dexterity – mainly because I was stupid not to wait for Bob, but mission accomplished anyway.

Later, Bob and I were relaxing in the pool – just standing around talking, when he said, “Don’t move.”

I wondered if I had a bee on me, so I froze. Bob came up and flicked a frog off my neck. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out, but I think I’m getting braver. The last time I had a frog on me in the pool, I nearly pulled my recently operated on knee out of joint trying to get away from it. These frogs are small, but that doesn’t matter to me. I should note that Bob has never had a frog on him while in the pool. It’s a mystery.

That’s what is going on with me. Wondering about misbehaving body parts, making dumb decisions, and avoiding frogs. Oh, and I am working on my inspirational humor fiction book, which should be available before Christmas. Lord willing and the frogs don’t rise.

Photo by Pexels.com
4 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on September 5, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Stuff I Go Through
Tagged ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on September 5, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/09/05/candid-but-not-on-camera/

Recovery

It was a simple procedure – an arthroscopic fix of two tears in my meniscus. The doctor said he’s done this same surgery on many of his colleagues, and they are typically back at work in a matter of days.

It’s a good thing I don’t have a job to go to. I also wonder about the peer pressure inflicted on the poor chaps who work at an orthopedic surgical center and who must go through repairs themselves. I’m sure many brave faces accompany those folks who wish they were home with their feet up.

As for me, my doc, who I really do like, said I’d be on crutches for a couple of days to ensure that my knee didn’t buckle and cause a fall. I’m happy to report that I never fell, even though I did have the occasional knee buckle. That was to be expected, so I was told. He also said that after six weeks I’d feel pretty much like my old self. I thought it inconsiderate of him to mention that I’m old, but you don’t have to have great bedside manner to be a good surgeon.

After six weeks, I paid a visit to my doctor. I felt like I was letting him down in that I had pain and swelling, but he assured me that I was on track. The pain I was feeling was arthritis – another reminder of the serious number of birthdays I have accumulated. He offered a shot of cortisone, but I decided to wait it out as he said it takes three months to fully recover. I know myself, and I never finish anything early.

Since our household was on the upside-down side between my knee and my mom’s long recovery from shingles, I was relieved that I didn’t have to go to physical therapy. But I did exercises at home. I amazed myself at my commitment to get better. I haven’t exercised this much on my own since, well let’s just say it’s been a while. I also haven’t done regular things like weed around the birdfeeder. The evidence of this , I am quite enjoying. I never planted sunflower seeds, but the birds discard a lot of them. 

Thing I learned from my knee surgery:

  1. Our shower head can move. Since my first couple of showers were taken while sitting down, I wiggled the shower head mount to lower it to where I could reach it. I had a measure of success with that. I could then reach it, but only because I pulled the whole thing off the wall. Bob told me that the knob on the side was to loosen the head so it could slide to whatever height I wanted. This was information I could have used before he had to remount the shower head, and for sure would have been good to know before I was standing on one leg while trying to put the shower head back together. We have lived in our house for ten years, so it’s kind of sad that I didn’t know this earlier.
  2. I don’t like to exercise. This was not new to me, but additional evidence of why I don’t use my gym membership.
  3. Just because the exercise sheet says for me to stand at a counter and raise my involved foot to my butt and grab it (the foot) by the hand and pull until I feel a stretch, that doesn’t mean that I can do it. I stood at that counter and dangled my arm behind me like I was fishing, but I didn’t catch a thing. When I looked to see how far I was from reaching my foot, it was sad. I tried with my other leg, but alas that knee is on deck for its meniscus repair. At least I could reach my foot, even though it did elicit a fair amount of pain in my “good” knee. The big realization is that I don’t have a good knee and a bad knee. I have a bad knee and a better knee.
  4. My bad knee is getting better and is becoming my good knee. Today I can reach my foot when I reach back, but I cannot yet pull it up. I rigged a yoga band to make a pully system for my foot, but all I managed to do was tangle the yoga band.
  5. When you have swelling in your knee and try to swim in a pool, the knee tends to float thereby making it impossible to swim in a straight line. Actually, it was impossible to swim at all unless I flipped over on my back because I am pretty uncoordinated. I’m happy to report that I am swimming like my old self again. Yes, I used that word intentionally.

On August 8, I will reach my three-month mark, and I expect that I will have made enough progress to make me glad I did the procedure. When I think back, I already am in much better shape with much less pain, so I’m thankful. Bob and I will be in Alaska celebrating our 50th anniversary when I hit that date. That should be the official litmus test, especially if we have to run from a bear or a moose, not that I’m hoping for that. Really, I’m not.

6 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on July 28, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Stuff I Go Through
Tagged , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on July 28, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/07/28/recovery/

Apple Derails Local Train

Our youngest grandsons came for a visit, and I was prepared, except for the part where I wasn’t. I pulled out a few of our saved toys and placed the Brio train set where there was plenty of room for them to spread out and build a train village. And then it happened. Felix, our ten-year-old, wasn’t interested at all, but Oliver, who is six, sat right down and started creating. He put several tracks together and glided the trains around them. It took me back to earlier days when I’d watched his dad play with those very tracks. It was sweet, and after about fifteen minutes, it was over. I didn’t even get a picture!

When I say over, I mean the beloved train set which my children and older grandchildren had spent hours of enjoyment playing with, no longer was needed in our home. It was the end of the line. Our grands are so used to playing games on phones that these old relics didn’t cut it anymore. I began to notice the transition several years ago with our now 13-year-old granddaughter Layna. The five grands before her were more used to floor play and actual toys, but when they started to use video/computer games more, her interest in traditional toys waned as well. Felix and Oliver followed suit. That is the state of things. I shudder to think of creativity lost, plus the art of bartering for the favorite train. These were foundational play opportunities.

Hello? Is anybody there or are you already on your phone? I’m as guilty as anyone when it comes to time on the stupid cell phone. But I didn’t see this coming, which happens more often when your grandkids don’t live near you. You lose track of what they’re into at any given time. But for me, this was not only the end of the line – it was the end of an era.

Perhaps I could have prolonged the termination of our train set if I could have gotten down on the floor and played with Oliver. That is what I typically would have done, but my current knee issues have already derailed anything that requires floor time. Since my recent knee surgery, I didn’t think it wise to put my caboose on the floor and play lest I needed an engine (or in my case an engineer) to help me back up.

At the end of the visit, the train was up for grabs. I always thought I’d give it to the youngest grandkids, but they are not interested, and I am okay with that. That train has left the station, albeit all too soon for this grandmother. But, with only one text, it has been rescued from the certain uncertainty of Good Will by my daughter-in-law Dacia who is only too happy to keep it on hand for when her boys have boys and girls of their own. Success!

These boys are in their late teens now, but I love this picture of them.

I sat on the couch with Felix and watched him play some kind of card game on his phone. He wanted to teach me, but my meager capacity to keep all those numbers and cards straight was more than I wanted to admit to him. I told him I’d learn it by watching him; he could teach me that way. It didn’t take. Now I knew how Oliver felt after fifteen minutes of the trains. It was enough. I’m beaten on both fronts.

It’s a good thing we have a pool. The boys don’t have easy access to one from their North Carolina home, so it makes up for a lot. I did play Marco Polo with them, though I don’t move as fast as I’d like. They didn’t care. We had great fun.

Any time with our kids and grandkids is special and I’ll play whatever they want me to play, except for Felix’s crazy card game or Clue. I do have limits. If I’ve never mentioned it before, my brain doesn’t work during the game of Clue. My kids took us to an escape room and my brain melted down like I was captive in that board game, trying to keep a good attitude when everyone was writing stuff on their stupid little clue sheets and I was making a grocery list on mine. Maybe that is why I never won.

Our now-thirteen-year old Layna.

4 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on July 15, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Family, Florida Living, grandchildren, Stuff I Go Through
Tagged , , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on July 15, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/07/15/apple-derails-local-train/

A Flare for the Dramatic

I don’t like to come off as overly dramatic, but Bob does. I also don’t typically like to throw my husband under the bus, but if I did, he would insist it was a greyhound and not a school bus. It makes for a better story.

We’ve been together almost forever, but I can still remember the first time we went to the beach and I saw a big scar on his chest. He explained it was from a knife fight. That was hard to believe, but Bob assured me that the kid up the street from them made it a point to try to beat him up as many days a week as he could. Thankfully, Bob was quick – speed can really be a help to little guys like Bob who were on the skinny side as a kid. I was horrified that he would have to grow up defending himself to the neighborhood bully, especially one that wielded a knife. Bob took it in stride. I was reminded of a definition of comedy – tragedy plus time equals humor, but this wasn’t funny.

I’m not sure if it was one of his sisters or his mom who gave more insight into this scar years later, but the truth came out that the alleged knife wound came from going over the handlebars on his bike. The handlebars were missing their hand grips so that rough metal pipe sliced his chest open.

I will barely mention the scar on his hand that resulted from another knife fight. This one was with a pumpkin that he was carving for Halloween, but it was another story worth embellishing. Pumpkins can be aggressive.

Flash forward about 50 years and I hear Bob telling the story of someone with whom he had an encounter. It was a rough day because the other man had actually slit Bob’s throat. He pointed to the scar while the wide-eyed listener must have been wondering who would do that to a senior citizen. The answer was a surgeon during a disk fusion.

This all adds up to why Bob is fine with going to the doctor, though he’s not as fanatical about it as his father was. Those visits can yield good stories, and that is the sort of fodder that people of a certain age need to relate with their peer group and confuse their grandchildren.

Bob making a big splash for our grandsons.

Speaking of his father – Bob will never catch up with that man when it comes to wanting to go to the doctor. When Dale was ninety, we were returning from a dermatology appointment. (I took him to his appointments back then because he lived in an assisted living facility and Bob was still working.) He told me that he believed it was time for his colonoscopy.

I looked at this blind man who also had mobility issues and said, “Dad, I don’t think you could handle the prep.”

As he began to lodge a protest, I added, “You know, something’s got to kill you. You’re not getting a colonoscopy.” He gave in on that one, but only because he couldn’t make his own appointments.

I think about caring for our parents and hope it will help me when I’m in their shoes. Bob’s mother died suddenly in her mid-eighties. As for the other three of our parents – two out of three did not always make it easy on us as their care-givers. They weren’t too bad, and I know they were grateful, but it was hard for them to receive help and, therefore, challenging for us to give it. We want to learn from that. Aging is hard – very hard. Let’s try to do it gracefully like one out of every three parents. (Thanks, Mom!)

Mom’s 97th birthday last March.

2 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on June 20, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Family, grandchildren, marriage
Tagged , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on June 20, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/06/20/a-flare-for-the-dramatic/

My, My, My, May

May has been a mixed bag. Bob took me for a get-away in Jamaica at the start of the month – just a few days to ourselves. What we didn’t count on when the trip was booked (and rebooked twice because of conflicts) was twofold. One, my mother, who lives with us, had contracted shingles a week before we left. She was put on antivirals, and my sister was here, so I only had minor guilt about leaving her. Two, my knees have had their own agenda this year. That agenda includes giving out on me at times and other times just being so painful that I don’t want to walk.

But we pressed on with our non-refundable trip, and in hindsight I’m glad we did. Time alone together is a premium. Bob booked wheelchairs for me at every airport leg with the hope that my walking strength would be conserved for leisurely walks on the beach. Being pushed around an airport in a wheelchair was a new experience. I didn’t like it at first, but now I think it’s the way to go – especially in the Miami airport because that place is a maze.

We arrived at our lovely resort and right away realized – Jamaica, we have a problem. The room chosen for us was on the second floor with no elevator access. That was fairly easily remedied to a first-floor unit. While I was unpacking, Bob went to check on something in the lobby and when he left, our doorknob fell off. I immediately ceased unpacking. A young man came and fixed it. He assured us that it was fine, so we put our suits on and headed to the pool. Thankfully, we felt like we should check to make sure it worked with our key, because it did not.

House arrest in Jamaica: This time they sent two men to fix the doorknob. One of them was armed with a computer and used YouTube as his tutor. We didn’t feel comfortable leaving all our things in the room while the door was propped open and these guys went in and out, so we waited.  After an hour, we requested another room, and amazingly they were able to accommodate us on the second floor near an elevator. A mere three hours later, we were set to begin our vacation.

I was not in a great frame of mind for this trip. Mom was home with shingles and three days after we returned home, I had arthroscopic knee surgery scheduled to fix my badly torn meniscus. But I hobbled along bravely sitting by the pool and having drinks brought to me. I’d hardly call it suffering! We even tried to swim in Montego Bay, but the sand was hard on my knees, so we only took a token dip in the turquoise blue water. Four days of sun and relaxing, and the best part was I did not have to plan or prepare any meals. Score!

On Wednesday afternoon, two days after returning home, my mom had an incident, probably a TIA, and she had to go to the ER. It was scary, but she pulled through, though she continues to deal with shingles. We were thankful she didn’t need to be admitted, plus the doctor said her shingles were resolving and she wasn’t contagious. That was nice to hear.

My surgery went well – so they tell me. I went home with a bandaged leg and used crutches the next two days until I could uncover the wounds – three little places each requiring two stitches. You wouldn’t think it would be that big a deal and it truly wasn’t. It was just more than I thought it would be hobbling around on my other knee (which isn’t great). Plus, that left Bob and my sister to tend to Mom, who was still weak from shingles and the supposed TIA. I don’t like being sidelined, but sometimes it’s good for me.

One of the weirdest challenges post-surgery was removing the permanent marker tattoo, as they called it, from my leg. It took six of us to figure out that it said left, indicating the left leg was the one they were working on. My friend Maria suggested I get it off with Windex, My Big Fat Greek wedding style. Contrary to pop-culture movie advice, that didn’t work.



I think my brain hurt more than my leg did. Okay, maybe it was a tie for the first several days, but it’s been two weeks and I’m coming out of it. I can even sit at the table and bend my knee comfortably enough to type. Yay!

I have many friends going through lots of physical ailments right now, and this reminds me to pray for them and helps me to keep my stuff in right perspective. I’m thankful for the surgery, but I’m not quite ready to do the other knee yet. Maybe in the fall. I should say – maybe in the autumn. I don’t like to use the word fall.

2 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on May 23, 2025  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Family, marriage, Stuff I Go Through, Travel
Tagged , , , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on May 23, 2025

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2025/05/23/my-my-my-may/

Always Looking for a Sign

The signage in the United Kingdom is wee bit more polite than here in the States. I particularly liked this first sign, which was at the soup bar at the Royal Aberdeen Golf Club. I thought this reflected the idea of living in the moment quite well. Anybody can plan for a soup of the day, but this sign tells me that things can change anytime. How exciting!

Then there are confusing, weird signs. I did not see any pelicans, humped or otherwise as we walked the streets of Inverness, Scotland, but I’m told this is just a pedestrian crossing with a light where you can push the button to gain right-of-way and cross the street. By the time we made it to the actual crossing, I wanted to cross the street like a pelican, but that wasn’t the correct direction for us, and besides, I can’t fly. That brings the question of why pelicans would need a crosswalk at all.

Yield! That’s so abrupt it’s borderline rude. How about we give way to each other instead.

I don’t think the US would use signage like this. Somebody would get offended, and an exact definition of elderly would be debated to death. Then again, there would be those who want to take advantage of a crossing area if it were exclusively for the elderly, and they aren’t really old enough to be considered elderly yet – like asking for a senior discount when you’re not quite there yet. But this sign on a street in Aberdeen, Scotland, is not just a crosswalk. It puts you on alert that the elderly are around, and you better watch out for them. Take that to mean what you will. Be observant of elderly people as they may not move quickly or hear well. Or, watch out for the crotchety old person who may hit you with a cane.

Contrast these interesting signs with a recycled (reused) one in my neighborhood. The primary election is over, so why not put a difficult to read sign along the road to make people slow down and possibly rear-end each other. I asked Bob to pull over so I could snap a photo.

Kitten Crossing – Drive Slowly!

I read the sign to Bob. “Kitten crossing. Drive slowly!”

Bob – “If they’re worried, they should leash the kittens.”

Me – “They don’t lease kittens. You have to buy them or get one free somewhere.”

Bob – no words. Just the sound of me laughing hysterically.

Enjoy your day!

Leave a comment
by Bonnie Anderson on September 5, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, The United Kingdom
Tagged , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on September 5, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/09/05/always-looking-for-a-sign/

50 years of Pinochle

At 15 years of age, I was not yet allowed to go on a proper date, but Bob could come to our house and hang out. That was the set-up for double dating with my grandparents, who lived with us at the time.

I had long observed the fun my parents and grandparents had while playing that weird card game with the funny name, pinochle. Not only did the deck consist of 48 rather than the standard 52 cards, but they only spanned from nine to ace, and there were two of each. There was bidding involved, after which they would put down and count their meld (the cards that were shown on the table before taking tricks). Counting meld values was not like anything I had seen before – 2, 6, 21, 28. Not too educational and above my head as a kid. Then they’d pick up the meld, place it back in their playing hand, and start the trick-taking part of the game. Points would be counted and then they’d see if they “made” their bid.

For my parents and grandparents, it was their “thing.” My siblings and I were never allowed to play, but I can remember standing next to my grandfather (the kindest man in the world) and watching. I remember laughter – lots of it. Now and then I heard my feisty grandmother accuse the guys of cheating when she and mom would lose a hand. (The ladies always teamed up against the men.) Sometimes she would get up and walk around her chair to change the outcome of a game if she and my mom were losing. You do what you can!

Mom and Dad never offered to teach me to play, and I get that. It’s a little complicated and this game was a way of relaxing for them. Teaching teenagers a challenging game at the end of a workday would not be relaxing; but when Bob started hanging around our house, my grandparents taught us. This is my best example of how grandparents, having more time on their hands than parents, can be more patient and long-suffering with kids and, frankly, give the poor exhausted parents a little break. We had a blast with them.

Bob was not around his grandparents much when he was a kid, so my grandparents became his. My grandfather loved Bob, and years later when Bob asked me to marry him, he got the blessing of my grandfather who told me that Bob was a good man. When Grandpop’s health began to fade and it was time to pass things along or throw things away, he gave Bob his “office.” This consisted of the desk that Grandpop sat at to pay his bills and do correspondence. It was a cheap old thing but packed with meaning.

In 2014 my daughter, Dena, and I chalk painted the desk and it has new life at her house. With four children, you can always use an extra desk.

My children watched Bob and I play pinochle with my parents their entire childhood. When they started dating seriously, they asked us to teach them. At least I think they asked, Bob and I may have forced it upon them. Playing cards is a great way of spending time getting to know each other. Also, if you can’t hold your own playing a game with us, you really should know that before becoming part of our family. They needed to go into marriage with eyes wide open. I’m not saying we’re competitive, but our friends would.

We play pinochle regularly with three out of four of our children. Perhaps we were too worn out to teach the youngest to play. I do remember offering when he was engaged to be married, but that was a time when all kinds of new-fangled games were coming onto the scene, and somehow, we never pressed it. Thankfully, we have other games to play with them, so the day is saved!

Our daughter’s children have asked if they can learn to play, and she has told them that will come when they have an intended spouse. It’s either a rite of passage for them, or Dena and her husband are waiting for Bob and me to teach them. It’s hard to say.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that because since those days of playing single deck (48 cards) with my parents and teaching our children, we have upped the difficulty by playing double deck – that’s 80 cards. The nines are removed and now there are four of each card jack to ace. You have 20 cards to hold in your hand at the beginning and that’s challenging in itself. The bidding is competitive instead of one bid per person. I confess to loving this game even more than the original, but my hands get tired and it’s challenging to shuffle all those cards, Still – worth it!

My first and only time getting quadruple pinochle back in 2017. That’s my “take that” look as Dena and I collected the 150 points for the quadruple pinochle plus an additional eight for double marriage in trump. If you don’t play the game, you may be getting an idea of how complicated it is.*

Just last week Bob and I were at our son, Jesse’s, house playing with him and his wife. Dacia and I always team up against the men, just like my grandparents and parents did before us. The guys won the first game (we play to 350), but it was relatively quick, so we played another. Dacia and I were losing badly when I got the hand. THE HAND! I could not tell my partner, of course, but I was ready to bid all night.

You may know nothing about pinochle but let me tell you that when I got a double run (150 points) with other meld to boot, we went from the cellar to the ceiling and won the game in style. Take that! Yes, gloating is an important part of this game. It is expected and tolerated, because if it’s not your turn to gloat this time, there’s always the next game. And I mean always.

*We have found variations of scoring in different websites, but as with so many friendly games, we use established house rules. That’s to keep us kind.

Leave a comment
by Bonnie Anderson on August 29, 2024  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Family, gaming, grandchildren
Tagged , , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on August 29, 2024

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2024/08/29/50-years-of-pinochle/

Retirement is all Well and Good until…

When I was young, I wanted my doctors to be older and wiser. For sure I did not want a young, good-looking male gynecologist. That would have been weird for me in those days of my youth. Now, I want my medical professionals to be young enough to see me through without retiring but a few years removed from medical school. The same goes for my hairdresser except for the med school part.

As a young married woman of 19, I did not know of a female ob/gyn in the field. Now, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a female doctor. See how things have changed! Plus, if you did swing a dead cat, you’d probably be in trouble with PETA, so I think I need a new saying.

As you may have gathered by now, I have recently had two people who have treated me with kindness and professionalism in their respective fields retire. The first was my gyn who has seen me through that lovely time of life which women go through and who was going through it at the same time. I tell you what – that was a match. At least it was until she went the way of so many people our age and retired. This field of medicine is not at the top of my needs list anymore, but nevertheless I am searching for a new practitioner. Sigh. At least this time there are plenty of women doctors from whom to choose.

Finding a new hairdresser after nearly 30 years with the same talented woman is a bit more daunting. No one other than Teya has cut my hair in all that time. Once during COVID I was forced to get my color touch-up from another when Teya had COVID. Bob and I were going to his 50th high school reunion. You don’t want your roots showing at that event – that’s for sure. You either want to be full-on gray or colored – none of that awkward in-between stuff. Having a stranger’s hands in my hair was weird for me. I felt a bit like I was cheating on Teya, but I had no choice (other than go with my roots showing or covering them up with a temporary fix or not going – other than those three things, I had no choice).

I sent this picture to Teya to show her the weird day I was having without her.

So, when it was time to find a new hairdresser, I was more than a little nervous. I asked myself if perhaps now was the time to go gray (now referred to as natural) and let my locks just keep on growing – maybe embrace my inner hippy who seemed to disappear somewhere after having my fourth child. But, alas, vanity said, “No!” I like my “natural” look and will likely continue it as long as it’s in the budget.

Before I found Teya, I had some bad experiences such as a person who was getting ready to cut my hair asking the stylist next to her, “What would you do with this?” I should have run out of there, but I was young. Also, I had often asked myself the same question about my curly hair. I was taken back but too timid to stand up for myself at that point.

I also had been overprocessed from highlights to the point that when I look back at those pictures, I wonder what I was thinking, but I digress. Teya had rescued my abused hair and introduced me to the wonderful, though expensive, world of “products.” She was experienced and not intimidated at all by my thick, curly hair. I think she was happy to perform her magic on me. The before and after can be quite satisfying.

So, when she told me she was retiring and moving away (she is so good that I’m sure several of us clients would have shown up on her doorstep if she hadn’t), I cried. Not only was I losing an amazing hairdresser, but I was losing a friend and a way of life that I enjoyed and in which I found myself quite comfortable.

Comfort. What a beautiful word! One can comfort another in times of difficulties and loss. And one receives comfort in like manner from those in our family and communities, and at times even from the perfect stranger. If there is such a thing as a perfect anything, a stranger who offers you comfort would fill that bill. But once again, I digress.

My roots were beginning to make an appearance and I knew it was time to jump into the pool of hairdressers and find a new one. You might not think it was a struggle, but it was. I like the familiar and I’m not a fan of the unknown. Even though it can bring new joys and friendships, it also might bring a bad haircut.

One morning before church, I spotted my friend’s granddaughter, Kate, who is a hairdresser. I’ve known her since she was born and she has been working for a few years, so she fits two of my qualifications – she would not likely retire before I die, and she has been working for a few years.

I approached her and began my lament. I used so many words; it was ridiculous. I told her my story and I told her my fears. I told her I was concerned that if I went to someone I know and was not happy with my results, I would feel awful not returning. I would probably have to move or something just to spare her the rejection. I could feel myself beginning to tear up. I fought back the tears – I think successfully. I acquired her phone number and said I’d call for an appointment. I’m pretty sure I also scared her to death. I’m surprised she didn’t change her phone number, but she was gracious.

Two weeks later I was sitting in her studio – a trendy, comfortable studio for one. It was so cute and inviting – just like Kate. I had given Kate my “formula” and she went above and beyond by ordering the exact color products that Teya had used. That scored major points with me. Plus, she is ten minutes from my house in Altamonte Springs, Florida.

As I sat down, with my hair literally in a new stylist’s hands, I was nervous, but I think Kate was more. She didn’t really show it, but later as I talked with my friend/her grandmother, she let it slip. I haven’t let her cut my hair yet, so the jury is still out, but if her ability with color and her sweet personality are indicators, I think she may be stuck with me unless she retires and moves away. Poor Kate!

2 Comments
by Bonnie Anderson on October 19, 2023  •  Permalink
Posted in aging, Stuff I Go Through
Tagged , ,

Posted by Bonnie Anderson on October 19, 2023

https://lifeonthelighterside.com/2023/10/19/retirement-is-all-well-and-good-until/

« Older Posts