Rather than one continuous story, here are a few observations I’ve made over the past couple of weeks. The third tale in this trilogy may be better suited for the dark web, but I’m including it just the same.
I spoke with my friend Ed a few days ago. He’s doing well. His only complaint is that his computer is not working as it should, so he hasn’t been able to read my blog.
We spoke about his birthday last month and the number of birthday cards he received. Although he didn’t share a final number, he did say that the postman has never delivered as many cards to one person as he did to Ed during the days surrounding his 108th birthday.
“He filled my mailbox four times over. It was wonderful. I thought you had a hand in the mail I received. Thank you.”
When I told Ed that I had been taking dance classes this fall, he shared that he once was a dancer. He came in second in a jitterbug contest several years ago. He danced “at the lake with a redhead”. They finished second to “the guy who lived next door”. I’ve known Ed for almost twenty years but it’s the first time he spoke about dancing or the redhead. Two great memories.
I, in turn, told him that Barbara and I had just finished the first seven of fourteen dance classes that we’re taking this winter. There’s no jitterbug in our future, but we’ve laughed a lot. We’re making progress; however, I don’t see us winning any contests.
That’s when I told him that if she comes to Michigan this summer, ” You and Barbara can give the jitterbug a shot”. He told me he’d like that. I believe she would too.
A couple of weeks ago Gail from my Memoir Writers group, read a story about baking. During my critique of her piece, I suggested that a visual aid would have enhanced her tale. I suggested that “bringing baked goods” would have been a wonderful addition. Kinda like show and tell. That’s when she asked if I liked lemon meringue pie. I do.
This week she brought a pie and sent me a picture the night before. It was beautiful.
Although she made the pie because of my suggestion, I shared it with the class. It was wonderful. I learned something new that day. The best way to cut such a pie is by wetting the knife.
Gail dipped the knife in a pitcher of water before each cut and each piece was perfect. Who knew? Certainly not me. If you’re unaware of this trick, you’re welcome.
I went to a urologist three weeks ago about an urgency/frequency issue. At seventy-eight I’m starting to experience both. If you’re seventy-eight and haven’t experienced such an issue, your day’s coming.
I haven’t peed my pants yet, but I don’t want to, so I thought I better get things checked out. I met with two ladies before the doctor issued a prescription.
I had to pee in a cup. I’ve done that thousands of times over the years. You probably have too. After that “nurse Vicky” had me lay back on an exam table so she could do an ultrasound of my bladder. She wanted to determine if I emptied it. She undid my belt and as she pulled down my zipper I must have squirmed a bit because she said, “Haven’t you had a woman unzip your pants before?”
“Yes, but it’s been a few years.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
She squirted some ultrasound gel just above my groin, moved the magic wand around a bit, and after a minute or so, said, “Your bladder’s empty. That’s good.” She followed that with, “Stephanie will be in to check your prostate.”
If you’re not familiar, a prostate is simply a small gland that’s part of the male reproductive system. Girls don’t have one. It’s normally about the size of a walnut, though it tends to get larger with age.
There’s a bit more to it, but that explanation should suffice for now. In any case, they wanted to determine the condition of mine. With all the progress medical science has made, the best way to determine enlargement issues is through the sense of human touch via a man’s rear hatch. That may be TMI for some of you.
In any case, “nurse Stephanie” is an expert in that regard and determined that I’m closer to a “brasil nut than a walnut’ which isn’t bad for a “man your age”, but they still put me on a prescription for ninety days. I’ll need to return to see how things have progressed.
I’m taking the girls a couple of hand warmers for my next exam. I let them know before I left, so they’ll be prepared. Better safe than sorry.
Why share such stories? Because they’re a part of my life, and while it’s true that I don’t need to share everything, I’m changing and one day you will too. Some of my strengths are becoming a weakness and some weaknesses a strength. My memory is one of my strong suits.
If I hadn’t shared these tales, you wouldn’t know my 108-year-old friend once danced with a redhead in a jitterbug contest or that my seven-eight-year-old ex-nun friend taught me how to properly cut a lemon meringue pie. They’re two skills that are not too late to learn.
Our lives are connected by seemingly unrelated stories strung together to help shape who we are. Ponder that next time you’re asked to pee in a cup.