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That’s So Cheesy

Once upon a time, I could eat just about anything I wanted. Pizza, spaghetti, bagels, Good Humor ice cream bars, lemon meringue pie… And I didn’t gain weight. I didn’t feel sick. And I was happy.

The first food limits were self-imposed when I stopped eating meat at the age of 13. While my decision came about due to my love of animals, I had also noticed that I felt awful every time I ate meat. Who knows if this was physical or psychological, but either way, that was the first food-related restriction. It seemed to bother other people way more than it bothered me. Everyone worried about what I could eat. And where I’d get my protein. And that I’d end up with anemia. This was back in the Stone Age when there weren’t the myriad alternative meat options there are today. Every time there was a family get-together, there was the wringing of the hands as to what they could feed me. I always tried to remind everyone that their entire meal did not consist of dead animals. That there were plenty of other options on the table. But the panic ensued for many years.

Thankfully, after college I moved to Los Angeles, where veggie burgers were found in abundance, and fresh fruit and vegetables were available year-round. And there were other kindred spirits who made me feel that I wasn’t so alone in the world of carnivores.

Pasta was always a great option as well. My favorite was Fettuccine Alfredo, the ultimate comfort food. Carbs slathered by creamy, cheesy goodness melted into one coma-inducing blob of deliciousness. And I still didn’t gain an ounce.

And just around the time I was congratulating myself for still being within ten pounds of my wedding weight, wham! The need for surgery arose. And things started to change. First was that my blood pressure went sky high and never completely reverted to the very normal numbers I had always enjoyed, in spite of the various medical combinations my doctors prescribed. Obviously, diet and exercise were important. So I learned to live within the boundaries of a sodium-restricted diet. Everything began tasting like cardboard. And, I gained ten pounds. So food tasted worse to me, my options were starting to shrink while my stomach and thighs were starting to grow.

Then, sugar became an issue. I didn’t drink sugary sodas, and I didn’t often eat dessert. But I did drink orange juice in the morning. It was my special treat each day. But I grudgingly switched over to low-sodium V-8. Which I now really enjoy, but in the beginning, it made me very grumpy. And more favorite things got crossed off the list.

But I still had my pasta. And I still had my cheese. So I made some adjustments to my diet and carried on.

Then came the thyroid surgery. The surgery I hadn’t been worried about. The surgery that left me without a speaking voice for six months. The surgery that changed so many things about my body, I’m still reeling. But the main two changes were that I got sick every time I ate, eventually realizing it was the gluten that was the problem. And within one year I gained over 30 pounds. So in spite of the fact that I had to cut out my beloved bread and pasta, the weight was piling on faster than I could put food in my mouth.

I exercised. I counted calories. And nothing changed. Finally, I got really strict about what I was doing and over the course of a year and a half, I lost 20 pounds. I was so proud of myself. And I kept it off in spite of so many stressful things happening in my life. Then, out of the blue, last year, the weight slowly started creeping back on. And within about two months, ten pounds came back. NO! I screamed each time I got up the nerve to step on the stupid, traitorous scale. What the heck? I hadn’t changed anything that had been working, and yet those sneaky calories were still somehow sabotaging my best efforts.

I did some soul-searching. There was still one delicious thing left in my diet. I could eat it straight out of the fridge when I was hungry. Melt it on a corn tortilla for breakfast. Shred it over a boring salad and make things tasty. But, it does have lots of calories. And fat. And has addictive qualities. My beloved cheese. The last holdout from my previous carefree life. But in the interest of health and weight control, I researched cheese substitutes. I bought several that were sliced and some that were shredded. I took a nibble of the sliced “cheese” that was supposed to taste like cheddar. I shuddered. I tried the shredded “cheese” over my rice pasta – it wasn’t too bad, melted. Then one of my friends informed me the slices also needed to be melted in order to be food-like. And it’s true. Especially if you add some avocado on top of it.

So far, the scale has rewarded me by going down one pound. One whole pound, imagine that. I’ve given up the last bastion of deliciousness and one pound has melted away. OK.

So, I’m going to try to get some more exercise in my daily life and see if that helps. Some recent studies I’ve read give me hope. One is about the correlation between sleep and weight loss – I could get behind that one. I’m ready to sleep almost any time of day. Especially if I blink too long. Another study said something to the effect that taking a bath might be equivalent to a half hour of walking. Sign me up! If sleeping more and taking baths could get me to my normal weight, you probably won’t see me until the end of July.

 

Meanwhile, nobody better mention taking my avocado away from me. I’m a woman on the edge.

 

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved

 

More Adventures In Travel

If you’re a fairly regular reader of this irregular blog, you know that things never go smoothly for me when I travel. Usually, the issues pop up either at the airport or once on the plane. While both of these happened during my most recent trip, there was a new wrinkle that brought home the fact that people’s jobs shouldn’t be taken over by non-humans. I’ve always believed that, but keep reading for the fun details.

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So, I recently traveled to Texas from SC. I made sure to book a nonstop both ways to avoid all the frustrations that come with hoping your plane leaves on time, hoping that the gate for your connecting flight is in the same zip code as the gate you arrived at, hoping your luggage makes it to your connecting flight (if you have to spring for checking your luggage which I rarely do unless I’m gone for a month – which I haven’t been), hoping the connecting flight leaves on time, and, well, you get the picture. luggage

 

 

When I made my reservation, the only seat available on the flying tin can was a seat in the very last row in front of the restroom. Since I had no desire to pay $40 for a seat a few rows up, I reserved that seat. So imagine my surprise when I finally made my way to the back of the plane and found a rather large, older man firmly planted in the seat. The flight attendant was standing right behind him in the aisle, watching everyone trying to shove their overstuffed backpacks into the teeny-weeny overhead bins. The rest of us who had carry-ons had to gate-check them since the bins on these bus-sized planes aren’t large enough to hold a cell phone, let alone a small suitcase.

 

airplane-seatsAnyway, I very politely asked the flight attendant if I was indeed at the right seat (I knew I was, but didn’t want to rile anyone up – there was no room for riling on this plane). The man said he thought my seat was across from his, indicating two empty seats. The flight attendant asked to see my boarding pass which was on my phone. It took forever to get my phone to access my boarding pass, but once I did, she made a hmmph sound and told me to sit in the empty seat across from the man until she figured things out. She was starting to stress about a couple who didn’t speak English and somehow had managed to board with a huge, quilted duffel bag which was half the size of the plane, which they were trying to cram into the minuscule overhead bin.

Wouldn’t you know it, but the moment I sat in the empty seat, a man made his way to the back of the plane and stood in front of me expectantly. “Your seat?” I asked, resignedly. He nodded and I squeezed into the area next to the restroom in the back of the plane, waiting to see what happened next. The flight attendant made her way back and told me as soon as everyone was on board, she would get me a seat in the front of the plane. I said that was fine since I didn’t really care where I sat, I just wanted to get a seat already. A few more minutes passed when suddenly, the man in what I knew was my seat literally jumped up, popped the overhead bin open and grabbed his cane, and excited announced, “This isn’t 5C!” He then barreled down the aisle to the front of the plane. I stood in shock for a moment, and then calmly reclaimed my seat.

texas-mapI had a great visit in Texas, doing lots of Texas-type things with friends and family. Then came the flight home. First, the line to get through security at the airport was long and snaky. Anticipating this, we had gotten to the airport with plenty of time to spare. I finally got to go through the X-ray machine with my hands in the air, and went to reclaim my carry-on, purse and shoes, when I saw that my carry-on was being held hostage next to the screening person. Fortunately, the TSA guy who was checking things out was young and cute and funny, so I wasn’t too stressed out. After he checked out the shopping bags of the girls in front of me who somehow didn’t realize they weren’t supposed to shove a nearly full bottle of water in their shopping bag to go through security, it was my turn. I asked what they thought they saw. He asked if I had a candle. Why, yes I did. I was very proud of having gotten a great deal at a store at the mall that had everything half price. He opened my suitcase, started undoing the great folding job I had done as he rummaged through my things, trying to find the candle, and finally found it. I toldcandle him it was Vanilla Cupcake which he thought sounded great and I told him which store I had bought it at, asking him not to confiscate it since he could go find one for himself there. Lucky for me, he laughed.

 

 

My plane boarded on time, which was a thrill, and I discovered that this plane was even smaller than the previous one – more like a flying minibus where you had to kneel to board if you were taller than 5’6″. I busied myself looking out the window. After awhile, I realized I had been looking out the window for an awfully long time. Finally, the pilot announced that we were waiting for the first officer. We all looked at each other – I’m sure I wasn’t the only one wondering if this guy had partied too hard the night before and had slept through his alarm. About ten minutes later, the pilot finally announced that the first officer had arrived at the airport – on another flight that had obviously come in late. Great scheduling on the airline’s part. About a half hour later, we finally left.

 

airport-parkingSo we got back to SC about 45 minutes late. I had parked in the economy lot which is a bit of a hike from the airport, but it was a lovely day and I was just happy to be back. I got to my car, pulled out my ticket to get out of the lot, and drove up to the machine to pay. I inserted the ticket in the slot. It shot right back at me. A mechanical voice told me the ticket was invalid. What??? I checked the ticket. It was the right one. It wasn’t bent, it wasn’t damaged. I made sure it was perfectly straight and inserted it again. Same thing. Third time. Same thing. No people in sight, although there are still booths. So I pressed the help button. I heard a ringing sound and then a recording came on telling me I should leave a message. Believe me, they wouldn’t have wanted to hear my message. There is a second lane for credit cards only. Fortunately no one was behind me in either lane, so I backed up and tried the next machine. It spit out my ticket and told me it was invalid just as heartlessly as the first one. So I resigned myself to the fact that I might never be able to leave the parking lot. I backed up, turned around, and parked once again, muttering to myself as I stormed back towards the airport. But then I looked up to see two older ladies in uniform, smoking and yakking in front of the booths on the other side of the street. I had never seen a more welcome sight. I was so busy ranting and raving, I don’t think I said anything intelligible other than the fact I needed help getting my car out of the parking lot. I proceeded to add that the airport had no right to take people’s jobs away by automating things when people still need other real-live people to help them. They thanked me for my concern about their jobs and finally, I was able to leave. The woman did tell me my ticket was damaged when she also tried to insert it. The damage must have been internal.

And that was my trip in a nutshell. I await the day we can get beamed to our location without need of airports or airplanes. Although with my luck, my molecules would end up scrambled and I’d have no way to complain to anyone.

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Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved

 

But I Have A Coupon

writerLet me start this post by acknowledging that it’s been awhile since I’ve felt up to writing. My brain seems to have been rewired the past year due to a series of events that felt like literal slams to the head, and it’s become more difficult for me to write something longer than 140 characters. But in the past few days, I’ve had some silly First World problems that  fell into a pattern that was so inane, the only place it made sense to gripe about this nonsense was this blog.

It all had to do with brick-and-mortar stores and coupons. For those of you who don’t know me, I need to tell you that I absolutely LOVE coupons. I’ve been known to drive many miles out of my way if I’ve got a coupon for an amazing deal. No one should take that pleasure away from me, since I ask for so little in life. When I get a shirt that was originally $50 for $5 between sales and coupons, it almost makes up for the fact that all I can eat these days without getting sick, is food that tastes like cardboard.

First, I went to my favorite chain drugstore yesterday with two $5 coupons in hand. drugstore-makeupThe makeup area had little yellow signs everywhere that if you spent $20 on certain brands, you would get a $10 coupon as a reward. Who could pass that up when my brand was included? They’re practically giving the makeup away at that point! So as I started picking up some blush and concealer to bring to the register, one of the salespeople was nearby and informed me that the special did not start until 4:00 PM that afternoon. It was only 1 o’clock. I said I had never heard of such a thing at a drugstore. She said she had put the signs up early so they’d be ready, and pointed to a teensy weensy dot in the upper right-hand corner of the sign that she assured me said the special started at 4:00. I had to take her word for it since that caveat just looked like a dead gnat when I peered at it without my reading glasses. I sighed and put everything back. However, I did return today and did buy what I needed to stock up on, got to use my $5 coupons, and got the $10 coupon in return. But, seriously, it was kind of ridiculous.

I then decided to get some exercise in by walking around the mall. It’s just been too hot to walk outside this summer unless you want to melt into a puddle of skin and bones. The problem is, I feel the need to reward myself with some retail therapy after, which isn’t a great thing for my budget. I suppose it’s better than rewarding myself with a hot sundaefudge sundae. My favorite department store had a coupon for $10 off $50 which included not only regular and sale priced-merchandise, but also clearance, which is practically unheard of. But if you were buying less than $50 of merchandise, they were offering 25% off, which was actually a better deal. So I found a few things I liked, waited on a very slow-moving line for about 10 minutes, and presented my merchandise. The salesgirl agreed with me that the 25% discount was the way to go. She rang up my merchandise and scanned the coupon. A concerned look came over her face and she informed me she’d have to try the $10 coupon after all since for some reason the other coupon wasn’t working. Then she tried that coupon and it didn’t work either. She asked where I had gotten the merchandise and I pointed. “Oh,” she said, with a disappointed look on her face. “Those are doorbusters and you can’t use a coupon for doorbusters.” “What?” I practically shrieked, very grumpy after standing on that line for so long. “But this coupon says it’s for all merchandise.” But of course, it wasn’t. The one exclusion was doorbusters. I told her to forget it, except for the clearance shirt I got for $6.

Today, while running errands, I stopped at a smaller clothing store where I had a coupon for 50% off your highest-priced item if you spent a certain amount. They outletwere also having a sale of 40% off everything in the store, but you couldn’t combine the two. I found two things I really liked, went to the register to pay, smilingly handed my coupon to the saleswoman and, guess what? The coupon wouldn’t work. Why not? Because in tiny little print it said it was only for their outlet stores, and was only good through tomorrow. Well, the nearest outlet store is 45 minutes away, so that wasn’t my first option – not this weekend. I ended up settling for 40% off plus another small discount for being a frequent customer, or some such thing.

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What’s the takeaway? Many brick-and-mortar stores aren’t doing so great these days, especially with the ease of ordering things online. My suggestion? Don’t make it so hard for customers who really want to shop in your store to get their discounts.  Don’t make coupons that are so limiting or confusing that the coupons will only work for 1% of the merchandise. Because you’re gambling that we’ll buy your stuff anyway. But many of us will put the items back, storm dramatically out of the store, and have some not-so-great feelings about returning another time. Of course, there are still those of us who will return another day – as long as you’ll take our coupons.

 

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved

 

Three Thursdays In February – Or My Left Foot

I’m sure no one would blame me for having heart palpitations as I approach each Thursday this month, after you hear my story. I never used to have this issue. But last year, I had three disastrous Thursdays in a row, to the point that when the fourth Thursday of the month loomed, I pretty much spent it in bed, hiding under the covers. Supposedly, these events were all random and I shouldn’t assign any special meaning to the fact that they occurred three weeks in a row – all on a Thursday. But human nature begs to differ.

february--calendar-53244e39213a5The first event is kind of personal, so I’m not going to go into it here. Let’s just say, it wasn’t positive and it was life-changing. But it happened the first Thursday of the month last year. And I had no idea that was just the beginning.

 

The second Thursday, my beloved Hershey – funny and loving, and my constant companion of almost 16 years – had a stroke. I wasn’t there when it happened, but it was apparent that night that things were pretty dire. He tried to rally the next day, but although he had had several similar incidents in the past, I knew this time he wouldn’t be able to come back to me. He died the next morning, on Valentine’s Day. I spent that Valentine’s Day with a broken heart.hershey.on.deck

 

 

 

 

 

ankle.castThe third Thursday, I tried to be strong and assure myself that the fact that these other awful events had occurred on Thursdays was just a coincidence. School had been out for a few days due to a winter storm, and it was my first day back tutoring. I was so happy to get back to work. All went well, until it didn’t. Black ice got me, my leg shot out from under me and I then landed on it, causing a spiral fracture. Aside from the constant pain and inability to get around very well, it turned out two months later that I had ended up with blood clots in the leg as well! It’s been almost a year now, and things are still not back to normal, – but I’m just grateful I no longer need the knee scooters, the boot, or the crutches.

 

So now, here we are a year later, with two Thursdays down. The first Thursday went by without incident. I started to breathe. The second Thursday was very odd. Let me crutchesfirst say that the ankle that was fractured was my left ankle. So I went to tutor my first student yesterday. She was hopping around on crutches because she had pulled a muscle in her leg – her left leg. I went to see my next student. She had a giant boot on – you guessed it – her left leg. She had fallen and twisted her leg. I came home and let the dogs out. When we came in, Maddie (my six-year-old pup) was hopping around on 3 legs – she must have stepped on something in the yard that hurt one of her rear paws. Which paw, you might ask? Ding, ding, ding! If you guessed the left paw, you’d be correct. I have no idea what the significance of this left foot business is, but I find it to be very odd.

 

There are two more Thursdays to get through this month, hopefully without incident. I’ll let you know if there are any further events. But then again if there are, you might not hear from me. If you don’t hear anything, you’ll most likely find me in bed, hiding under my covers.maddie.undercovers

 

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved

Fly the Friendly Skies

I have had many ups and downs when it comes to flying – both literally and figuratively. I recently had a few experiences with the airlines that were somewhat unusual, and I’d like to share them with you.

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It seems there are no longer direct flights to New York from my little corner of the South. Lately, I’ve been taking the early-morning flight on an airborne sardine can to Charlotte, where I then transfer to a somewhat larger tin can to get to New York. This time, I flew a little later in the morning, so I went through Washington DC instead. This meant boarding a plane that actually had more seats than a bus. It was a nice change of pace.

We boarded on time, and since I had a little over an hour between flights, I was hopeful I might actually make the connecting flight, since that’s always a crap shoot. We waited on the tarmac for awhile after boarding, without any sign of motion on the part of the plane. And we waited. Finally, one of the flight attendants got on the PA. She announced that one of the seats was broken. She informed us that this was a full flight. She then morphed from friendly flight attendant to angry schoolmarm (I think she might have even wagged her finger at us), and warned us that if someone didn’t volunteer to get off the plane, we would just sit on the ground until someone did volunteer. I felt like I was back in 2nd grade. Of course, whoever did offer to get off the plane would be compensated and rewarded, and receive the eternal gratitude of everyone else on the plane. I considered it, and if I didn’t have to make a connecting flight, I might have done so. But taking non-direct flights are very tricky, and I needed to get to New York.broken.chair

Everyone just sat, looking hopefully around the plane, praying that someone who had nothing else to do would volunteer and let us leave already. Finally, a hero arose. He was sitting toward the front of the plane and, in what could have been slow motion, stood up, talked to the flight attendants for a few minutes, and then jauntily exited the plane. We all  heartily applauded our thanks, then breathed a collective sigh of relief when the doors finally closed and we rolled down the runway. The flight attendant glared at us as if we were all a bunch of naughty children.

mean_teacher_w_ruler_LargeWideMy question is, why was this our problem? Aren’t we the ones paying them hundreds of dollars to get us from one place to another in the least uncomfortable way possible, which would include intact seats? Why were we scolded and intimidated by a flight attendant for something that was clearly the airline’s problem? But that’s just one more thing being par for the course when it comes to making flying as not-fun as possible these days.

I did have one actual fun experience, however, while waiting to board the flight schumerfrom DC to New York. As I was waiting for my zone to be called, I turned and there was Senator Chuck Schumer standing next to me! At first, I didn’t want to bother him, but after one of the airport workers tried to usher him to First Class, and Senator Schumer told him he was flying Coach, I smiled and began chatting with him. What do you say to a Senator whom you greatly admire without sounding like a blithering idiot? I don’t remember everything I said, but I am fairly certain I was speaking English. And Senator Schumer smiled at me, asked me questions, and didn’t have me escorted from the airport, so all in all, I think I did OK.

No such excitement for the trip home. While I was in the airport waiting for the flight from DC back to South Carolina, I found a seat where I could relax away from all the hubbub. A man sat down two seats away from me. To my left, were about 20 empty seats. Within minutes, the rest of his very energetic, young family came bounding over. They all crowded around him and the one empty seat to his left. They kept glancing at me like I should get the hint and get up and not intrude on their family fun. Finally, his young son who was very cute and very active, started jumping up and down, and his foot landed right on top of my foot. None of the adults seemed to notice, even when I grimaced and said, “Ouch.”

water.bottledSo I caved, and got up, semi-certain that the foot contact incident had been carefully orchestrated in order to get me to move. I was hungry anyway, so I made my way over to the vendors who can legally sell you a bottle of water for $4 and a small bag of popcorn for $6. And then I found another seat. Where I could sit quietly and pray that my next flight would leave on time and wouldn’t have any broken seats.

 

 

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved

 

Tough Break

snow.tableIn most parts of the country, this awful winter is starting to loosen its grip, and spring is attempting to make an appearance. Living in the South, it was especially jarring to deal with as many weather events as we had the past few months, consisting of freezing temperatures, snow, and ice. The relief is palpable as we walk outside and see determined little buds pushing their way through the hard ground, and trees bearing welcome blossoms. I do understand that compared to many areas of the country, most particularly Boston which had the most mind-boggling epic snowfall the past few months, we really have little cause to complain. But there are reasons one chooses to live in the South, and weather is not the least of those factors.

So, when schools were closed due to the ice covering most surfaces, I heeded all warnings to be careful. That black ice was sneaky and insidious, and every step outside needed to be taken with concentrated caution. And I was careful – at my house where I hunkered down during the bad weather. But after days of closed schools, meaning no tutoring, things changed by the end of the week, and I embraced the return to making a living.

And then, wham! The black ice got me. I ended up with a spiral fracture of the ankle.castfibula. The pain was constant and it was hard to sleep more than a few hours at a time. The inability to walk or do much of anything for myself was frustrating. And at the time, I didn’t think to ask for details when the doctor told me that he wanted to see me again in 4-5 weeks. In my mind, I thought that meant that in about a month I’d be back to normal. As normal as I can be, anyway.

crutchesThe first thing that I discovered to my shock, was that I have absolutely no ability whatsoever to get around on crutches. Having never broken any bones prior to this, my thoughts about crutches were largely based on the people I’ve seen who seem to get around with the greatest of ease. Younger people. I thought I was in halfway decent shape. How ego-deflating to realize I couldn’t even make it down the driveway in under 10 minutes. Even worse, there’s a step of approximately 10 inches in height from the kitchen into the garage. It was hard enough getting down without toppling over, but nearly impossible to get back into the house. What to do? For over a week, I didn’t even leave my house. But I was getting cabin fever. So I decided to be brave, and at the same time give up any shred of dignity I had left. I put a pillow on a chair by the door, and when I came home from a brief drive that somewhat restored my sanity, I opened the door, yanked the pillow off the chair, and crawled into the house. That went on for 4 weeks. My son couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just hop back into the house the way he demonstrated to me effortlessly. Several times. Insult to injury.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the options available these days when one knee.scooterbreaks an ankle, I have to say that the invention of the knee scooter has been an absolute life-saver. Due to my complete ineptitude with crutches, I would probably be living in bed, under my covers if it weren’t for the knee scooter. But until I got the OK to balance on the fractured-ankle leg, I was unable to get the scooter in and out of the car on my own. Meaning I either had to drive with a companion or be meeting someone at my destination who would do that for me. Or, in the case of my last doctor visit, when a lovely lady in the parking lot took such pity on me seeing me trying to make my way into the doctor’s office using crutches, she went to my car with me and got the scooter out so I wouldn’t further humiliate myself. It was great until I had to get it back in the car by myself after my appointment. No helpful souls were in sight. I ended up almost breaking my nose as the loose end of the scooter swung into the car as I attempted to not fall over. As I said, the concept of dignity has pretty much disappeared from my life.

I went back to the doctor after 4 weeks and was told that things are improving and to return in 3 more weeks. Wait, what? No miraculous healing after 4 weeks? But when will I be normal I asked him, again, assuming that there was  hope I could ever be considered normal. He studied me and asked what being normal meant. I told him that in this case, I meant able to walk again. Well, after 3 weeks of more of the same – except for now being allowed to use the bad leg for balance and apply slight pressure on it – if things continued to improve, I might be able to use the air cast as a walking boot. I once again forgot to ask for how long.

daffodilsAfter almost 6 weeks, there is hopefully a light at the end of the tunnel. With the onset of spring, comes a bit more mobility and freedom. Although things that you never think about are suddenly major obstacles. How do you take out the trash? Vacuum or wash floors? Doing laundry is completely exhausting. Grocery shopping is finally an option, but only one bag per trip, and getting the groceries into the house while on crutches involves at least 3 trips of slowly emptying out the one bag into 3 little bags. I’ve been lucky that I’ve received help from my children, and kind and generous friends. When I’ve felt down, the drive-through window at TCBY has been a lifeline. I didn’t realize until someone pointed it out to me how lucky I was that I broke the left ankle since I still retained my ability to drive. Whew!

My ego has been appropriately humbled. My delusions of fitness and youth are now gone. Reality is harsh and kind of scary, but I am relieved that things do seem to be headed in the right direction. Except, of course, for the times I do topple over or run over my toes with the scooter. Again, lessons in humility.

And on a serious note, I have chastised myself for my bouts of self-pity. Because this is just a glimpse into the world of those who have to live with some sort of disability on a long-term or permanent basis. Everything we take for granted can be daily obstacles for those who can’t take anything for granted. Kindness helps. Patience helps. And empathy,  putting yourself in the shoes of another person who is going through a tough time in whatever shape or form, is probably the best gift you can give to anyone.

 

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved

 

Happy New Year 2017

valentines.saleNo, that’s not a typo. Ads for Christmas started before Halloween this year. In the frenzy for sales numbers, Thanksgiving was barely an afterthought as stores insisted on opening by Thanksgiving afternoon. Last week, I guess retailers felt they had saturated the print and visual media long enough regarding Christmas, so I actually saw ads for Valentine’s Day! Yesterday, the day before Christmas, they started inundating us with the post-Christmas sales. I guess the message is now that you’ve spent months shopping for those perfect gifts for everyone you know, forget the actual holiday and let’s get on with the shopping.

 

 

There are end-of-summer sales 4th of July weekend. On the one hand, I’m not Fireworks_diego_bay_on_the_fourth_of_julycomplaining about that – this means I can still get clothes I might actually want to wear during the summer before summer is even halfway over, at drastically reduced prices. On the other hand, this push to keep us buying further and further into the future is, in my humble opinion, the reason so many of us feel that our lives are just racing by.

 

 

 

 

clock.warped

 

 

When you can’t just be in the moment, when you’re constantly urged to start planning for events that are still months away, there is no longer a present (pun intended). Life just gets pushed further and further along at breakneck speed. To where?

 

 

 

 

When I was a kid (yes, once again, back in prehistoric times), time seemed to move grassat the pace of grass growing. I don’t remember ever thinking that something enjoyable had raced by in the blink of an eye. But when I talk to children these days, I often hear them say how quickly the year has gone, or express similar thoughts. What are we doing to our kids, let alone, ourselves when  all we do is tell them that now doesn’t matter?

 

rocket

Life goes by way too fast, without us ramping up to warp speed. At this pace, if we keep pushing our rampant commercialism to the next level, we might have end-of-summer sales before the season starts. And eventually, the further we push things ahead, we’ll meet at the actual time that would be appropriate for a particular holiday or season. At the rate things are going, I’m giving it two years for everything to sort itself out and catch up to itself.

 

Meanwhile, I hope you had a very happy holiday season, and I’d like to wish you all a very Happy 2017.

 

happy new year 2015 sms in English

 

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved