Meeting the In-Laws

I recently retold the following story and it continues to strike me as one of the most bizarre experiences I've ever had. Let me preface it by saying that all of the people mentioned were very dear people (both main characters have since died).

The year was, um, 1979, I think. Ron and I had just gotten engaged and over the Thanksgiving holiday he took me to meet his grandma and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. We drove out to the farm the day after T-Day and were greeted by Ron's grandma, who was dressed in a sleeveless shirt, wielding a double bit axe. She was out chopping wood for the wood stove, which she used to cook on and heat one of the two rooms in her log cabin. Mind you, it didn't look like a log cabin on the outside; it had some kind of tar paper shingles over it. But it was a bonafide log cabin. The two rooms had been joined together by a hallway with a bathroom sometime in the 60's I think. Up until then, an outhouse had been employed.

We walked into the kitchen/living room/bedroom and it was pretty small. The kitchen was along one wall and the dining room table dominated the room. I don't recall a couch or any kind of other "comfy" chair. The other room in the cabin was just a big room with a bunch of beds and maybe a couch. And another wood stove. That's where all the kids slept. All NINE of them. Actually, a couple slept upstairs in the attic. Ron says he remembers putting his clothes under the mattress during the winter so they wouldn't freeze and also remembers waking up some mornings with snow on the quilts.

After a spell, Ron's Uncle Billy and cousin came in from trapping 'coons. Uncle Billy had a beard (no mustache), a missing tooth or two and a farm hat that had been put to good use for many years. He reached for the fifth of Wild Turkey and took a long swig, then handed it to his son, who did likewise. Yep. I was waaaaay out of my element.

Lunch (dinner, as they call it) was out of control. Turkey. Ham. Tons of vegetables. Homemade bread and gravy. Really, really good. I sat down to the table and right away noticed I was the only female seated. Grandma and the aunts and girl cousins were up fussing over the men and didn't sit down to eat until they had cleared out. Again, out of my element.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any more awkward Ron and I stepped out on the back porch to find his cousin, Kurt, holding on the the hind legs of a 'coon while his dad pulled the skin off it. So far out of my element . . . I couldn't decide whether to stay on the porch and try not to lose my lunch (dinner) or go back inside and prove to be completely useless. In the end, I think Ron and I went for a walk.

After I got to know these people, I came to admire them for their work ethic, endurance and really kind hearts. What started out as culture shock eventually became a real lesson in life for me. And one Kate and Tyler got to share as well during summertime trips to the farm, where Kate ate loaves and loaves of jelly bread and Tyler ate some squirrel that his second cousin shot. They, too, were out of their element, but they loved every second of it!

Barack and Me . . . Our Common Bond

So, on Tuesday night, I watched through a semi-narcotic haze - ok, so I was completely baked - as our nation elected Barack Obama our new president. I was bawling like a baby and it really hurt pretty bad, so the tears might have been half pain, half wonderment.

Tuesday night was also the Night of Unfortunate Bodily Waste Mishaps (see previous post). The next day as I was reflecting on the events of the previous night it hit me:

Right about the time Barack Obama was probably realizing that he was going to be president and no doubt thinking, "Holy crap! What have I done?" I was having my own holy crap experience, also thinking "What have I done?"

If that doesn't bond us for life I don't know what could.

Guess What I Did?

Warning: Some dialogue may be too intense for young readers or people who are easily "squeamed" by frank discussions of bodily functions.

My, my, my . . . such a long absence between posts! I know - I'd better have a good excuse. Well, I think I do.

Last Monday, I had gastric by-pass surgery. My stomach (now lovingly referred to as a "pouch) is now the size of a plastic Easter egg. Yeah. That tiny. Won't hold very many Jelly Bellies any more. In fact, it will never hold Jelly Bellies again!

First, the why . . . When I was 29 I lost 60 pounds. When I was 39 I lost 80 pounds. When I was 48 I lost 40 pounds. Careful addition would tell lead you to believe that, by all accounts, I shouldn't exist, having lost that much weight. Ah, but the rest of the story. Not only did I gain every one of those lost pounds back, I also managed to bring another couple dozen (at least) along for the (unhealthy) ride.

I finally got sick and tired of the failed diets, the failed goals, the failed life. Not that I thought my entire life was a failure, but I knew that I wasn't living life to the fullest. Simple things were getting too hard to do. Like go upstairs to our bedroom and my office. Like fitting comfortably in an airplane seat. Like walking more than 1/4 mile without getting winded. Like walking and talking at the same time.

So, in May I attended an informational seminar at the Kansas City Bariatric Center. I won't go into too much detail here (because I have a NEW BLOG . . . theeggandeye@blogspot.com . . . that will deal with my journey), but suffice it to say that it was a LONG process that included clearance from a psychologist, cardiologist, nutritionist and pulmonologist. And that doesn't include the nail-biting wait for insurance approval. But - hallelujah, hallelujah - I passed everything with flying colors. I only had two co-morbidities (sounds awful, huh?) - high blood pressure and high cholesterol, so I went into surgery as a pretty low-risk patient (my surgeon's words, not mine).

Surgery was a piece of cake, probably because I slept through most of it. Recovery, so far, has not been that bad. Of course, there was the night in the hospital that I had violent diarrhea all over myself FOUR times - and just happened to have a male nurse that night - so humbling. He was absolutely wonderful and somehow managed to return to me my dignity and hope. And then there was the night at home when I made Ron check to make sure that my intestines weren't spilling out of my gut because I had moved a little too much one way and YOWZA! I've never been stabbed, but I'm guessing that's what it feels like. SEARING pain. But short lived.

So, today, one week post-op . . . it's a BIG day! After a week of a liquid diet, I get to eat 1-2 tablespoons of a scrambled egg! Tomorrow I get the egg AND cottage cheese!!! Eventually, I'll be able to eat a fairly normal diet, just no sugar and not a lot of fat. High protein, low carb. Actually, it's a diet all of us could benefit from. And, since I've come home from the hospital I've lost nearly 12 1/2 pounds.

I'll try not to let my Egg world spill into this one, but you know me. Check out the other blog, if you want. It will give you more insight into what lead me to this decision and what life's like as a bariatric patient. And if you have friends or relatives who have considered this operation I'd love to talk to them. I'm SOLD on it and the program I went through. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat!

The Re-Purposing Wonder

Ron never ceases to amaze me with his talent for repurposing things. He made my desk from an old door. He takes random pieces of wood and makes really, really cool lamps. He takes ordinary gourds, dries them out, scrapes off the yucky stuff and varnishes them to create beautiful, lustrous display pieces. He made a bin to hold blueprints from old shutters.

Last year we bought a canvas "carport" so our precious Prius wouldn't get molested by falling walnuts. Last winter it blew apart and I had to weather arctic blasts to pull it down into the driveway lest it trespass into our neighbor's yard. Ron said not to worry. He'd figure out someway to use the canvas and pvc pipes. I told him I had a few suggestions of what he could do with those pipes . . .

Today, he made a giant dustpan to aid in the never-ending task of leaf raking and walnut gathering. And he used the pvc pipes to construct it. He saw something in one of his gardening catalogues and the little lightbulb went on. I could almost hear the switch being flipped. He showed me the sketch he used as a blueprint. A couple of lines here and there. That's it.

Sometimes during the evening when we're watching the telly, I can tell his mind is a million miles away thinking about a new creation. I would LOVE to get inside his mind to see how it works. Or . . . maybe not.

Food Foibles

On Saturday, as Ron and I were in the bathroom together doing what we both do to get ready to face the day when I said, "Guess what I fantasized about last night when I came to bed?" I heard him catch his breath as he asked, "What?" To his complete and utter dismay, I replied, "Macaroni and cheese." This time his "what?" was less breathy and more disgusted.

It's true. As I was flipping around the channels I landed on the Food Network's "Drive-Ins, Diners and Dives." Guy (the host) was at some restaurant in the Midwest where they were cooking up some divine looking mac-n-cheese. Gobs and gobs of ooey gooey cheese. Seriously, I thought I might need to get a bib to catch the saliva that was threatening to escape my lips. Then it was off to another diner where they serve up yummy burgers stuffed with more ooey gooey cheese. Judging by the SRO at these joints it's a miracle every man, woman and child is not a heart attack waiting to happen. I decided I couldn't risk watching that show anymore. Makes my culinary tendencies warp into overdrive.

Later that evening we were dining at Paulo & Bill's and there I was, satisfying that ooey gooey itch with their glorious gnocchi with Parmesan cream. I nearly fell over in the booth when I took the first bite (no lie, ask Ron). Towards the end of our meal, when we were both groaning from indulgence, a svelte, long-legged lass with blonde hair sauntered by our table. As if on cue, our waitress arrived with a tray laden with all things decadent and asked us if we wanted any dessert. Noticing Ron's eyes following the svelte young thing all the way to her table, I said, "I think he just had his."

I'm Just Sayin' . . .

So . . . who can tell me the difference between Bristol Palin and Jamie Lynn Spears? Oh, wait. I can! Jamie Lynn Spears was raked over the coals for her unplanned pregnancy and Bristol Palin is being heralded as having made a pro-life choice. But there are some STARTLING similarities to their situations . . . BOTH are teens, BOTH made the choice to have their babies and BOTH are married/getting married to the fathers of their babies. So what makes Jamie Lynn Spears a villain and Bristol Palin a saint?

I'm not trying to pass judgement . . . I just think it's ironic that there could be two really similar situations that have generated such different reactions.

Like I said, I'm just sayin' . . .

How Road Rage Begins

This morning, Ron and I were running a few errands . . . the bank, post office, HyVee. At the post office, Ron stopped to let a car turn left in front of us since there were a few cars ahead of us at the stop light. We waited a couple of seconds and then Ron motioned for the car to go ahead and turn. In response, the driver angrily motioned for us to go, which caused me to throw my hands up in the air as if to say, "What? We're being nice!" When we drove by the car, the driver - an old man, with a wrinkled face and cigar clenched in his teeth - said, quite loudly, "You idiot!"

It took Ron and me the whole ride home to calm down. I usually don't get mad at drivers, but this really ticked me off. We were trying to be courteous and for what?

This is why I don't have a gun. And, if I did, why I would never put it in the car with me.