“The Princess and the Pea” *

I have a confession to make. The three bed pillows I sleep on are well over ten years old (I’m afraid to say how old they actually are). The pillows are very firm and rather flat. I stack them on top of each other so I have a sort of wedge. I hate to think of the generations of dust mites the pillows have supported, with their irritating allergens. (Too much information?)

These pillows would definitely not pass the Oprah test. During one of her shows about linens and bedding, she demonstrated how to know when your pillow needed replacing. Oprah folded a pillow in half and it stayed folded, meaning it was a goner. My pillows stay folded in half without any chance of a rebound.

Penney’s had a pillow sale last week and I bought three different types, all labeled “Firm Support.” I’ve bought cheap pillows from Kmart and Walmart in the past, hoping to make the switch, but my face sunk so far in I felt like suffocating. I figured the more expensive Penny’s pillows should work.

Last night I resolved to toss aside my three old pillows and use the Sealy Posturepedic Select pillow. The Sealy was comfortable and not too squishy. “Hey, I think this is a keeper!” I thought. But as I lay there, I was aware it was different. I changed positions. Still comfortable, but not familiar. From 11:15 PM to 1:00 AM, I tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t do it. I finally tossed the Sealy pillow across the room, stacked my three worn, but beloved pillows on the bed and fell asleep.

I have a hard time sleeping when anything is different. I am like “The Princess and the Pea.” * I have trouble adjusting when we add our electric blanket to the bed in the winter, or take it off at the end of spring. It’s the difference in weight that bothers me. When we lived in Gilroy, Larry put some bookcases in our bedroom. Somehow, even with my eyes closed, I was aware enough of the change that I had trouble sleeping. I guess I felt like I was in someone else’s house.

Larry saw the title of this blog entry and I told him what I’ve written. When I told him about not being able to sleep with the new pillow, he said, “I knew it!” He had slept wonderfully on his new pillow. When I reminded him of the bookcase incident, he laughed and said, “You’re just plain weird.” But still “princessy”?

* ” …'Well we shall soon see if that is true,' thought the old Queen, but she said nothing. The Queen went into the bedroom, took all the bed clothes off and laid a pea on the bedstead: then she took twenty mattresses and piled them on top of the pea, and then twenty feather beds on top of the mattresses. This was where the princess was to sleep that night. In the morning they asked her how she slept.

'Oh terribly bad!' said the princess. 'I have hardly closed my eyes the whole night! Heaven knows what was in the bed. I seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and my whole body is black and blue this morning. It is terrible!'

They saw at once that she must be a real princess when she had felt the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. Nobody but a real princess could have such a delicate skin….”

by Hans Christian Andersen

Time Traveling

We upgraded our Comcast cable box to a DVR. It’s magical. Tonight we were watching Jeopardy. Alex read a question, and suddenly Kevin paused the show to give us more time to think of the answer (cheater!). I looked at him, shocked. He then pushed a button and the show resumed. He did this several times. I asked what happens to the time? Will the DVR’d pauses catch up with the live show? And when that happens, does time in the universe stop? Can two versions of the same show co-exist at the same moment? Aren’t there rules about time travel, where you can’t visit your past or future self or both will implode?

I was just getting used to “On Demand” and how easy it is to set the DVR to record a series (did it for “Flash Forward” and “Fringe” tonight), but this pausing and playing of live TV freaks me out.

Kevin researched it and said the DVR automatically starts recording a show as soon as you switch to a channel. But I still don’t get it. It’s like electricity; I know it’s there, but how does it come out of the outlets? When I was little, my dad told me never to touch the holes in the outlets or a bug would bite me. I think I did, anyway, and something certainly hurt when I did it.

What’cha Been Smokin’? *

My dad lives on the second floor of the assisted living part of a large retirement apartment complex. A few days ago, he was awakened by the blasting sound of a fire alarm at 6:40 A.M.

At first he thought it could be a drill, but it was awfully early for that. He decided he’d better assume it was real, and changed into his clothes, put on shoes, then went out of his room.

He was shocked to see some smoke in the lobby. Smoke was also coming out of cracks in the elevator doors. The only other resident out there was his newest neighbor, Barbara. She had thrown on a robe and was standing near a window, where she could see downstairs to the office, which seemed to be the source of the smoke.

Soon one of the caretakers came upstairs and told them the smoke was coming from the microwave in the break room. One of the workers had been cooking a banana and somehow caught it on fire. The problem was contained to just the microwave and everything was OK.

My dad’s story made me wonder…Why didn’t all the residents leave their apartments when they heard the fire alarm? They’ve had fire drills for practice. While I’m glad my dad took the alarm seriously, why didn’t he just grab a robe and leave his apartment? How would the residents have escaped when there was smoke in the elevator shaft? If they tried exiting through their dining room and kitchen, would the doors have been locked?

But the question that bugged me the rest of the day…Why would someone microwave a banana???

(The next day I asked my dad why the residents didn’t respond to the fire alarm. He said they told him they didn’t know what it was or what to do. And the banana…it was a plantain. A worker had wrapped it in a paper towel and set the microwave for one hour instead of one minute, causing it all to burn and smoke).

(The photo is from www.twinkiesproject.com/radiation.html  It shows a Twinkie on fire. No plantains or bananas were harmed in this experiment, but I can’t say the same for the Twinkie).

* Those of you of “a certain age” will remember talk of people trying to get high by smoking banana peels in the 60’s. My quick research shows it can’t happen. There are no intoxicating chemicals in banana peels. It was a hoax published in The Berkeley Barb in March 1967. Wow, I haven’t heard of The Berkeley Barb forever!

You Don’t Have to Be an Einstein…

 

Because of my visit to Migraine Land two weeks ago, I had to cancel my hair cut appointment. My hair grew longer than usual and was looking quite bush-like, so as an experiment last weekend, I asked Megan to straighten my hair with a flat iron (the Mini-Maxi Glide, an infomercial item I fell for).

I had visions of smooth, shiny, silky hair that would swing as I tossed my head. Instead it came out fuzzy, like a stuffed animal.

I told Meg, “I’m going to look like Einstein!” She disagreed and was having fun trying to make my hair flat.

“I look like Rod Stewart! I look like a baby chick!” I said, but Megan kept on working as we laughed.

When we finished, I showed Kevin my new hair. He looked a bit startled, then said matter-of-factly, “You look like Einstein.” HA! He can always be counted on to tell the truth.

I wanted to show Larry, who was in the driveway washing Megan’s car (I know, but she was visiting royalty). Kevin asked me with concern, “Do you want to go outside?” Was I that hideous?

Larry looked shocked and had a hard time looking at me. He asked, “Do you want to go back inside?” I then realized either he was embarrassed or felt I should feel embarrassed to be seen by the neighbors. I just thought it was funny (though I was sort of glad no one was outside but us).

The rest of the day, I caught Larry and Kevin wince a bit when they looked at me uncomfortably, as if I had a deformity. I reminded them it was only temporary.

The next morning my hair happily sprang back to its curly self with wild abandon as soon as I washed it. My family, my hair, and I felt at one again.

“A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new.” Albert Einstein 

(I used www.faceinhole.com to create the photo)

24 Has “Jumped the Shark”

My son, Kevin, and I have been loyal fans of the TV series, 24. After watching the episode two weeks ago, Kevin looked at me and said, “I don’t think I want to watch anymore.” I looked at him, incredulous. What did he mean, not watch anymore? Kevin said, “It’s just not good. Jack is getting too old and it’s all moving too slow.”

I was still a bit shocked, then I realized I agreed with him. It wasn’t riveting television anymore. But I wasn’t ready to give up on it yet. Kev and I agreed to watch another episode and hang in there.

Last week’s episode (March 22nd) finally did us both in. I’ve had to accept that Jack can fully function after being stabbed, shot and tortured by electrocution. But at the very end of the episode, out of the blue, the blonde woman from Battlestar Galactica (whatever her character’s name is) took a cell phone call from one of the terrorists. She’s working with the terrorists? Come on! Are you kidding me?

I looked at Kevin and said, “Well, 24 has just jumped the shark.” We are both done with it and I’m sad to say good bye.

We aren’t the only ones, apparently. I heard on ABC’s national news that Fox will not be renewing 24. This season will end in May, then that’s it. Sigh. It was a good ride while it lasted.

(Why do I have a picture of Fonzie instead of Jack Bauer? Read this from Wikipedia: “Jumping the shark is an idiom used to describe the moment of downturn for a previously successful enterprise. The phrase was originally used to denote the point in a television program's history where the plot spins off into absurd story lines or unlikely characterizations…”

“The phrase jump the shark refers to the climactic scene in "Hollywood", a three-part episode opening the fifth season of the American TV series Happy Days in September 1977. In this story, the series' central characters visit Los Angeles, where Fonzie (Henry Winkler), wearing swim trunks and his trademark leather jacket, jumps over a confined shark on water skis, answering a challenge to demonstrate his bravery.”)

Migraine Land

I disappeared into the abyss known as Migraine Land. For eight days, I endured. Finally, it eased up two days ago and I am so grateful. It's like getting my life back again.

People usually use the words, "pain and suffering" together, as though they are one and the same. For me, they are different. I'm in pain all the time (muscle and tendon pain from fibromyalgia, joint pain from arthritis and sciatica), but I wouldn't call this suffering. Having a migraine with all its debilitating side effects is suffering.

When this happens, I tell myself, "This day is terrible, but it can't get any worse." But it can. It's like a bad infomercial, "But wait, there's more!" Each day when I awake, I have a few seconds of thinking, "It's gone!" but it's not. The pain quickly creeps back and settles in.

But laundry still needs to be done, dinners cooked, and bills paid. I tell myself, "You can do this. You've had days like this before and you've never fainted, so stop freaking out and just stand up long enough to take care of things."

The worst day, emotionally, was Saturday. Larry and I were planning to go visit my dad because my brother and his wife were there from Oregon, for the weekend. I had to cancel. I had so looked forward to seeing them, plus my sisters and their husbands. It was going to be a "Pizza Party." I was near tears all Saturday, sad for the loss of seeing my family and because I was losing hope.

For a few days after a long bout of illness like this, I feel traumatized. Post traumatic migraine disorder? I'm drained. I think suffering makes my adrenaline keep running; trying to deal with eight days of pain wipes me out. I'm also fearful of the migraine returning. I don't know what brings it on and I don't know what makes it stop. I can't tolerate anything other than Tylenol. All the new medications have bad side effects for me.

So, for now, I have my brain back (though some of you may not be able to tell the difference!) and I appreciate life so much more.

(The cartoon is more illustrative of a tension headache than a migraine. I was going to use a photo of a woman holding a hammer to her head, but decided that was too graphic. But it would have been more accurate).

What Time is It, Really?

I don't take kindly to The Man* telling me to change my clocks back and forth an hour twice a year. What power and control, to manipulate time like that!

From the time I was a child to young adulthood, changing times didn't bother me. I was a bit bummed when I'd lose an hour of sleep, but was happy to get an extra hour later in the year.

Things have changed. I survive by keeping on a schedule for eating and sleeping. I get low blood sugar if I don't eat every three hours or so (well, not during the night!). I'm also used to going to bed and awaking at the same time every day, even on week-ends. It's called, "Getting Old."

 With Daylight Saving Time (I learned it's "Saving," not "Savings" like I've been saying all my life), my body clock doesn't match the wall clock. I'm not hungry when the clock says it's time to eat. I'm not tired when it says it's bedtime. And I don't want to wake up when it says it's time to get up.

The first few days of every time change, I keep asking myself, "What time is it, really?" My dad also asks me the same question during our daily morning phone calls.

This year, I got smart. I made a cheat sheet with the time conversions so I wouldn't have to figure it out each time. I'm a bit sheepish to show it, but obviously not that proud because I'm posting a photo!

I want to be Arizona or Hawaii and ignore time changes. 

*I asked my 23 year old son if he knew what "The Man" meant, in case I needed to define it for all you youngsters. He said, "Yes, like the government." He's hip. He's with it.