Life full of angels
Judy Conlin
I resolved not to be a whiner in 2026, and, by golly, I am not going to whine. Anything you read in my columns is reporting on happenings in my life. It may resemble whining, but it is not. It is simply accurate reporting.
It is true that I am not the youngest kid on the block. It is true that I walk funny. It is true that I have occasionally had a lapse in memory. It is true that I sometimes must ask you to repeat what you just said, especially on the telephone .It is true that I sometimes must squint to read my very own column in the newspaper. Sometimes I’ve even been caught using a magnifying glass.
It is also true that this is not unique to me alone. These things are natural occurrences due to aging. I am still here, just an elderly woman with a few (okay-quite a few) symptoms of those who have lived a long life. I am not a blithering idiot. At least I don’t think so. The world, however, thinks that I am. Let me explain.
We have had a very cold snap here in northern Florida. I do not like the cold. Coming from Pennsylvania and upstate New York, I have faced many crippling blizzards with snow up to my waist , and unpassable highways. I have had to spend nights in my nursing lab at work because I could not get home. Yet here in Florida, when the thermometer dips to 32 degrees or below, I am assaulted by the TV with warnings for the elderly. I am advised to stay in the house unless I absolutely must go out.
This is where I was convinced that I wasn’t an idiot. Even elderly people with a few blunted senses know enough not to venture out in an arctic blast unless she has to. I relax a little, ready to weather the storm.
Suddenly my phone buzzes with an emergency alert. It tells me that there is a severe cold warning in our area with high winds and the possibility of snow flurries and ice. They advise me to make emergency preparations in case of electrical power outages. Oh, and please wear layers of clothing. I laugh at the last warning since I already have 4 layers on and am puffed up like the Pillsbury dough boy. Should I tip over (an ever increasing possibility with all this extra padding on my body) I would never break a bone. I might roll around or bounce but the likelihood of getting out of the supine position is questionable.
I get the chimney cleaned, removing the electrical insert. The chimney sweep insists that he bring wood onto the porch for me to use although I tell him I am completely able to do this myself. He gets me wood. He leaves his personal phone number in case I need help.
Next the worst thing happens. I’ve been instructed not to go out unless it is an emergency. Now I have an emergency. Cat food is low. If I am going to be trapped inside for any length of time with 2 starving inside cats and 2 starving outside stray cats, it would be a real disaster. I add on one more layer and flounder out the door. My new girth prevents me from fitting behind the steering wheel. Struggling, I finally get the seat back far enough for me to fit but I am having trouble reaching the pedals. More struggling ensues but I finally get me and the frigid car started.
Immediately a light goes on. Drive slowly. Danger of patches of ice. Oh my. I don’t want my new car smashed although there is probably no danger of me getting hurt with all my padding. I continue my journey to the grocery store at about 2 miles per hour. I see no ice. Kindly people help me disengage from behind the wheel and get me a cart. I load up with cat food and make the short trek home.
Another struggle ensues upon arrival. I somehow get my bulky self out and my bulky bags of cat food onto the porch, leaving that bossy car shivering in the driveway. As I am trying to unlock the door of the house, I can hear the phone ringing. I finally roll in and grab the phone. It’s my brother in Ohio. He was about to call the police since I didn’t answer. I assured him I was fine and please not to call the police. Then phone call after call came in as the hungry cats milled around my feet. My gardener called , my handyman called, my friends called. I finally get off the couch (couldn’t fit in my chair) and fed the cats.
I remove a few layers, start a fire in the fireplace, and sit down in my chair with a hot cup of cocoa. Life is good. I have nothing to whine about. My life is full of all sorts of angels (be they live or through the media), looking out for my well-being. Thank you, God.
More later,
Judy
www.nursejudyinfo.com.
