Number Nutsy

 The other day I was asked suddenly what my phone number was and I, like you, stumbled for a bit. The old hack excuse is "I hardly ever call myself". Most people would laugh it off, but when you're an elder, you get The Eye and the Nod. Nonetheless, it brought to mind the number of numbers and letters I have to remember from day to day. I am not a frequent cell phone user much to the tongue clucking of those around me, therefore, I do not grab a little plastic thing to answer every question there is, as do users. I have a very old fashioned rolling gizmo with little white cards on it that tells me numbers and addresses and names and it's even cross referenced. My cell phone, yes I do have one, goes with me only when I step outside the door. I am not a person who needs to confirm her existence by constantly looking at a phone screen. I don't even like the things in my house. Visitors who bring these itsy bitsy nuisances inside, seem to be tied to them like umbilical cords. They will leap up when their itsies ding at them and rush to see who it is. To me it's as laughable as they find me without a cell phone in hand. Cela. But numbers are not only getting longer,  they are also complicated with letters and symbols adding more complicated lengths. Beside my desk computer ( I like a big screen with touch) along with the Rolodex. is my cell phone dutifully plugged in ready to go out with me when I choose to take it. I don't have a dog. When I get a parcel delivered for online shopping, the order comes with a mile-long tracking number. Why do I need to track what I pay someone to deliver? I used to delete these incredibly long numbers, but occasionally I have to use them when one of those off-shore companies takes ones money but neglects to send the product. But usually I delegate these lengthy numbers to a file that grows exponentially. These numbers are a mile long and almost as silly long as the ones you get when you "register" cyberwise, such as your security code for a seven dollar online game. Once I asked why, and was told it was so that it would be hard for hackers. Huh? Hackers are always ten steps ahead of the rest of us anyway. Then there are item order numbers, to store. My groceries get a new number every time I add or subtract something from the list before it comes. Other numbers are "important" such as my health care number, driver's license, bank card pin and social security number. We are told never to divulge them and that we will never be asked them over the phone. And phone numbers being private, are also a joke because those idiot phone scammers have a computer number app that gets you from as far away as India or the Philippines or Dallas, Texas. Private phone number? Ha. And don't be fooled by the tone of voice on the other end, they are not the FBI nor are they your friendly credit card guys. Hang up. And those very secret passwords?  If I put my list of numbers that give all the passwords I have been forced to change for all the places that want them - or else they'll block me - end to end, they'd reach the moon. I wish we got one number when we are born and that was it. It would save the files and lists and places to hide the combinations and permutations and frustrations, so that I can get on with what I am wanting or looking for or needing that I can't get any other way but by a number I don't remember. Oops, there's The Look and The Eye. 

After The Bug

 Grieving is a complicated thing and now that many who have lost their elders and others during the height of the pandemic are doing so. The time has come to contemplate rather than panic. Scientists and governments are constantly criticized and hounded as to why this virus happened, who did it and who isn't doing enough and what is going to happen next and when and how it will pay out. One group, for example, is demanding apologies from hospitals for the infections that they say were responsible for family death. Viruses are devious and completely free of prejudice. Their only goal is to latch onto a place where they can multiply to stay alive. Humans are fighting back as well as they can but it appears to be a challenging job to keep up. Grief has stages and it has been determined that the stages don't come in neat order but jump around back and forth, up and down on the list of symptoms, before reaching the final stage that is acceptance. And even then, some in grief, don't get that far. Losing a loved one is the worst form of sadness not just because it is a shock to the human psyche, but also because, untimely, it pops up in the most unexpected times. There are no rules. We've all been through a lot in the last couple of years and no one has escaped the effect, not even me, an eternal optimist. Yes, there were times when I, too, could see what looked like it could descend into something sci fi movies relate as the end of all human life. But what an optimist does, is keep its head above water and struggles to make it stay that way even in the darkest of times. We are fighters against the negatives. Can't help it. But some well meaning, fine folks, just cannot seem to dig out of the pit of morbid moods and their feelings are to be understood and empathized with. Blaming others is not a good bandage to wrap oneself in, however. It doesn't really work. After the apologies, then what? Move on? Feel satisfied? Stop grieving? Unfortunately, no. An apology demanded of a hospital for example, a place where everyone in it, does their best under the most difficult circumstances, including personal danger, is a pretty fuzzy apology even if given. In my "book", an apology is more. It's a kind of payback, not in money, but in sincerity. For a hospital to apologize means that some stranger or a group of them, speaks their regrets but nothing, certainly not words, can bring back the dead or change what was. It's over and done with, and words aren't sticks and stones. They can hurt, but they can't cure what was, what happened in the past. What truly helps grief, is time and for time to work, it needs the griever's patience and perseverance. There is no prescription for curing grief. I lies buried in the griever. It is somewhere to be discovered and met and dealt with. Been there.

Little Old Ladies

 Read a report this morning about elders with dementia who are abandoned in hospital ERs by exhausted family care-givers. They can no longer tolerate the lack of help and funding to carry on even though they may love their person very much. The term is called "granny dumping". First of all, the action is horrendous and says much about the disrespect society has for its elders and second of all, it is rude to use "granny dumping" as a term for this action. It's highly offensive to females because as many, or perhaps more males, are affected even though ordinarily not as long living. The former matter has to do with under funding and the disgraceful economic discrimination that exists in the matter of commercial care homes. The second one has to do with the press who uses the term thus furthering it whether intended or not. Having once cared for an elder twenty four seven who was blind and physically incapable, but who needed constant care, I know how exhausting it can be. Tagging that kind of commitment with governmental supplemental "respite" help is a joke. Sending someone in to allow you to "get away" for an hour or two to shop doesn't in any way, make up for all the other hours including endless sleepless nights. And outside "home" care is too expensive costing usually, more than paying a luxury five star hotel fee plus the extras. And the complexities one has to suffer in finding and accessing funding and placement is a nightmare.  No average person can afford  a "good" home for what amounts to double the average wage to pay out monthly.  We fret constantly about what comes out of our mouths that may be offensive to someone, while at the same time, get away with how we treat our elders who are afflicted through no fault of their own with dementia. I know. When we wanted to attend a family reunion some hundreds of miles off, we took our elder who needed constant care, to a highly rated "home" for the week. But only a day or two later, we were called and told that we needed to bring immediately, some fresh pajamas. We told the manager that we had packed two pairs or could they launder them there, or purchase new ones because of our distant location. "It's against our policy and schedule" we were told, but only after some chat, finally resolved it. Extra charges were needed. But the experience left us shaken to learn about the complexities of even the best of elder care facilities. What of the other "homes" that were not rated so? What happens to our elders whose families cannot afford outside care and do it themselves? Why do not all homes offer the same elder care at the same charges? Why is it such a trial to find placement? And why do we use terms such as "granny dumping" in reference to those of old age, something that no one escapes. These questions are now. Everyone knows that the answer is spending money on it and lots of it because we all grow old. No one escapes old age. It doesn't discriminate.

Down The Hatch

 Groceries are a huge budget item what with further global warming effects on agriculture. There is no denying that expenses continue to rise and other than housing, food is a biggie. Any time there is a problem it needs to be examined just as the doc does when you hurt somewhere. We are hurting a lot at the check out counter and part of the solution is scrutiny. When was the last time you sat down and seriously looked at what you spend on food? It's time for that exercise. If you can find a spot in your busy life filled with miscellanea, perhaps the whole family could gather to examine  home food costs and how to cut back. Families eat every day and generally don't pay much attention to the outgo. Grocery stores provide us with check-out lists. Save them and take a post-shop look. I buy almost entirely online and have my groceries, in paper bags, delivered to my door. It costs me less than taking my car out. Now, I peruse each item on my computer before pressing the button to buy a selection. I can view each and every item by picture and if desired, find details about the product. In the end I can go over the list and contemplate what to remove if necessary. Also, later on second thought, can change my order list. Okay, it takes time but when the average family is spending, or shall, one thousand food dollars a month, why not? Most people like to see and maybe feel each item they buy. Why? The truth, they admit, is that it's a social occasion. Not one I like, and my online shoppers are as good or better than me. I know what I want and it comes or a substitute, if I checked that box. I don't have to spend time marching up and down aisles I've been on  every week for years. I have better things to do. Okay, you have the last grocery checkout list in front of you. Go down it and see where you can reduce. While the food fadies who indulge in local markets, the expensive ones, you wise folks might want to consider the old boring and cheaper forms of what are the exactly the same kinds of foods, from an element POV.  What's wrong with ground beef over steak? Same thing, different format. Hot dogs once in awhile are okay even if they use "every" part of a creature. Not yuk, truly practical I call it. As to veggies, they are green or yellow or red. Pick by colour and try the ones on sale. Green is green, a carrot is a carrot. Buy bulk. Try baking your own bread. Way cheaper and get the kids involved. Use a mixer to do the hard work. The rest is simple. Buy a small freezer and save. Organic costs more, but who's to know?  I won't tell. Cut back on the fancies and settle for stews, soups, cheaper cuts in meat. Popcorn works. Chop the costly junk items off the list: those lunchy munchies that come in little plastic packages but offer nothing in the way of nutrition and add to our pile of waste. In fact, kids should pack their own lunches and stuff them with a range of good choices you set out. You can whack down that grocery bill if only you look at it wisely before tapping your card.

Wha Wha Wha

Wha wha wha whining makes for most of the "news" lately.  Where's the logic? You hear "the government isn't doing blah blah for me " , "my taxes are too high". Contradiction in operation. It appears that the general population while complaining constantly about paying taxes, persists in griping about what "the government" isn't doing for them personally. "They aren't giving me what I want even though I haven't done a whit about trying to do it for myself" seems to be more the truth.  The G is U! You ARE the government technically. Since you can't get out there to do whatever it is the G does, you elect a G to do it for you. You pay tax money so that it can be done. But there's only so much money to go around. Lately, the criticism encouraged by the tongue-hanging-out-press, is personal. My hotel room isn't what it should be when I have to isolate, the emergency food isn't good enough, I want someone to call me up personally to inform me about the latest requirements for travel, why can't I travel where I wanna, why isn't the G giving me what I need?  Wha wha wha. Ever heard about Do It Yourself? Or Tough It Out? Even our kids expect someone else to do everything for them. Can they wash and iron and clean? Can they make their own meals? Can they walk to school and events? They are driven  to games, school, shopping, social events by harried parents who appear to do nothing but run them around or long-suffering grandparents who have no other life. They are spoon fed and pampered and if ever they happen sadly to experience a disaster, they are not prepared to do anything for themselves. They are, for some odd reason, given by parents absolutely whatever, whenever and wherever they want. Who ever heard of saying a flat out NO to kids these days? Or yes you will do it because I said so, end of conversation. I have listened to mothers spending long periods of time over their screaming brats in a mall, explaining why junior cannot have all that he or she sees and wants. "No" and "home" would do and be far less publicly annoying.  Most kids are so accustomed to a world always bending their way that they don't have the tools for survival on their own. Sure, they are smart, but are they resourceful? Smart doesn't go far other than the gold star up in the corner. Winning stars or gold medals doesn't make for a real life. It all comes down to DIY. If you can't figure out a way to avoid the pitfalls, you can and likely will, fail. Those travelling have an onus to investigate the how-tos for themselves, not blame the government for telling them personally.  It is not the G's fault that there is a virus. It is YOUR, OUR responsibility to look after things no matter what is presented to us. Find out what is needed, search for a way, work toward what you require. Belly aching to a panting news reporter gets you nothing that lasts longer than a couple of air minutes or a line or two of text. Want success?  Do it yourself. Wha wha wha is a noise only.

Go Public

 Today after reading a previous article regarding proven abuse by a professional, another individual decided that it, too, would lodge a victim complaint. I'm not going to state much more about this person because, frankly, the tale is a no-tale. Such nonsense is called "hogwash" but it draws the occasional hungry reader to the swill just the same. It appears that now, many so-called reporters are "independents", and can write up just about anything someone jogs along and tells them. They are hungry for a "story", something juicy to feed the equally peckish reader looking for a tale of woe to cluck over.  It makes me wonder when I read some of these, fortunately rare, "reports" where on earth their scribers came from.  Behind a fast food counter perhaps or out of a large room full of computer folk clicking away all day in their little booths. Not that there is anything bad about holding down an honest job, any job.  While the independent reporter, one of the kind who have a degree of written English and a hard aspiration  toward being hired as a reporter by one of the paper biggies (dream on) does it to attempt to collect a steady salary and become a professional journalist. If that happens, the newby will quickly learn the code that truly fine journalists adhere to. It is not an easy calling.  Like ambulance chasers and the paparazzi, the amateurs scout about, still hanging on to their day jobs, just-in-case, while trying to sniff up some dirt to scribble and submit, if nothing else, their picture will end the texting on the thing and glean, for their future,  further attention. And apparently, as in this lame article that offers zilch as proof of the complainants case as being abused, the verbiage says nothing that holds an iota of authority. The whole rather well written, but completely air-filled with the hot stuff , piece, is nothing but the hearsay of the complainer. In the four or five paragraph article with photographs of the attractive victim, there is not a shred of any sort of documented fact,  other than the so-called victim's own statement.  It speaks of a setting that is believable enough, but the "pain" experienced is the victim's related experience alone. The supposed victim tells that a friend had the same routine medical procedure with no pain, while in itself did have extreme pain, and blames the perpetrator for it. There were others present, but apparently the amateur reporter deigned to gather supportive comment. Oops not very professional. Broad hints of monetary reparation were revealed as being sought by the victim, with no veracity to the tale whatsoever. I noted that the victim's photo as well, appeared somewhat digitally enhanced. It seems everyone likes to appear their very best even when exposing personally ill situations  to the media. Of course the media likes it, too, since everyone, especially news readers, are drawn to a comely face. I rarely see many, what I call "homely" people, these days. anyway. They all disappeared sometime around the wide spread use of  laser,  pimple cream and Botox. At any rate it seems that anyone can be a reporter. Just make sure to call yourself "an independent reporter".