I lost my charm

since my son has to quit smoking, I thought I would quit with him. I haven't stopped entirely but I'm cutting way down. That could be a problem. My prescription for Prozac ran out some time back and I really can't pay for the office cal right now to have it renewed. And very few cigarettes. Okey, dokey.

I was driving through town this morning and stopped at a four way stop, let the other person go, then it was my turn. good thing I hesitated because an SUV went right through because the driver was too busy with her phone to pay attention. Then I went to Wal-mart to look for low-sodium peanut butter for my son. This pick-up pulled out from a parking row, right in front of me. The driver never turned her head to see if there was a car in the main drive. That was it. I was damned certain to let the second person to pull in front of me in less than fifteen minutes know what I thought! I started to turn behind the truck when a woman yelled from a car that I was running off people. What the hell is that about and what business is it of yours? I actually followed the woman and was about to get out of my car when I realized that this could turn really ugly. We had attracted other people and I screamed swear words at all of them. I drove between a woman who had joined the fray and her teenage kids and came home. I was so angry I was shaking.

I'm going to smoke now.

And so it goes...

The salt-free dinner went well last night. I will shamelessly admit that I admire my son's will power... no salt and one or two cigarettes a day. I was sprinkling a few grains of salt on my food last night when he yelled, "What are you doing? You can't have that! I'm joking, Mom." That outburst is the result of Friday's lunch when Mom and I decided what he should eat. I didn't give it much thought but he mentioned it as soon as we left the restaurant. "Lunch was good. Thanks for choosing it for me, you two." He laughed and hugged us. My supervisor was with us at lunch and asked me about it that night at work. "Did Jim enjoy his lunch? You and your mom picked out his meal." Well, yeah, but we thought we were being helpful, not pushy.

I know it's one more thing in a long series of tiresome things that wear a person down, a person like me, but my son is taking it in stride and doing the best he can. He spent the day with me today, mostly because his internet is screwed up and he needed to do some things online. It was a good day. He cut the grass after he took care of what he needed to do and I appreciate that... a lot.

My son and I are very close. (I know I've mentioned that before.) He's going through a rough time right now and I'm glad to know he still depends on me for support. It's what a parent does. I could get all sappy here or I could sit down and cry for the unfairness of some things going on in my son's life, things I don't feel are mine to share. Parents want so much for their children, no matter the age, and our hearts break when we see them struggle. And so it goes.

No artificial additives, no sugar, no salt

When my son was between four and five his behavior became so unacceptable. Just bratty. I told the doctor that if there was nothing wrong with this child, and that was my hope, then he was in a lot of trouble for behavior issues. The allergist wanted me to change my son's diet to eliminate all artificial additives. It meant very few packaged foods; almost everything was from scratch. Okay, no problem. Soaps, detergents, and toothpaste also had to be additive free. I was doubtful of this whole thing but three weeks later I had my sweet little boy again. Amazing.

About two years later, my son developed diabetes. New doctor, new diet. Try to use artificial sweeteners whenever possible, he said. Um, he's doesn't do well with that. Do it anyway. Learn this exchange diet. The exchange diet is the most commonly used because it's fairly easy to remember: 1/2 English muffin = 2 slices low calorie bread = 1/2 cup grits = 1/3 cup cooked white rice = 1/2 cup cooked wild rice = 8 animal crackers = 6 saltines. After a time the proportions become automatic... this is all I can have of this. Keeping a cheat sheet handy helped for the times we did forget or for foods not eaten often. The best doctor ever moved out of state. New doctor, learn this new diet. It seems to me that we counted grams of carbohydrates, protein, and fat. The new doctor usually treated adults and treating a diabetic child was a new experience for him. I recall him saying, "I don't care what he eats as long as it totals this number of carbs, x number of protein, and whatever amount of fats." We all did the best we could.

Now we are learning a low sodium diet. My son's blood sugars have been way too high and his blood pressure is elevated. His doctor is unhappy and my son isn't thrilled, either. The prognosis is that if he doesn't get these things under control, he stands a good risk of dialysis in a few years. We're working to turn these things around. He's also to quit smoking so I'm trying to do the same.

My son's occupation is not an especially good one for a person who needs to eat at regular times and get plenty of sleep. He's always done bar work and becoming a bar manager only increased the hours and stress. Stress and high blood pressure go together. We're working on that but there have been changes that may have increased his stress level.

Because he lives alone (well, he shares a house with a friend who's never there) he doesn't have the support of a partner. Being the pushy mother that I am, I'm learning about high blood pressure and diet and what changes need to be made. No hot dogs, bacon, chips, packaged foods, and no Cheetos. Just those items made him really unhappy and he got real ugly about the Cheetos. I heard him tell his girlfriend that he was going to have to live on lettuce and water. That's not what I said.

I am amazed at the amount of salt that's in almost everything we eat. Here's a link to check it out, if you're interested. http://www.webmd.com/diet/slideshow-salt-shockers

Needless to say, the not smoking part is the hardest. I phoned my son awhile ago and when he answered it was, "What?" I'm not doing nearly as well as he is but I'm working on it. He went cold turkey (where did that expression come from?) and I know I can't do that. I've tried it and I think it's the best way to fail. Maybe not for everyone but for me. He's doing well. Crabby but not smoking.

Because my son has had health issues all his life, he counts on me to help him when things get out of whack. I'm the one who guided him when he was young and he knows I'll do all I can to help him get his health back on track. He's never had a woman in his life who was willing to learn about diabetes and how to help him care for himself. The woman he's seeing now may be the one who takes the time to learn. She's learned to watch for signs of low blood sugar and knows what to do. She's a good person.

It's about time to pack up dinner and head to my son's. He's watching football and I don't have television so I'll take dinner to him and the kids. This should be interesting... I've salted nothing.

Fresh peach pie and fried chicken

This is not my pie. This is apple pie and I don't care much for apple pie but I do love fresh peach pie. It would not be my pie even if I loved apple pie. I'm not the world's worst pie maker but I run a close second. If the crust rolls out nicely, it cracks when I put it in the pie pan. I patch a lot. If it all goes together well, the bottom crust will be soggy. It's always something.

I took a peach pie to my son at work last year. The bartender walked around with a fork, calling for my son to cut the pie

. I told my boy that it was not a great pie (I had tasted one at home) and he said that since this group never gets home made anything, they would love it. They did.

On the other hand, my mother. I took a pie of some sort to her last fall and she took it to my sisters at the store. I happened to work that weekend and one of my sisters said, "That pie wasn't as bad as Mom said. She said the crust was awful." There just happened to be a pie sale at the town gazebo, just across from the store. I yelled in to Mom, who was working, "I'm going over to check out the pies that probably have wonderful crusts!" When I got back with several slices of pie, Mom hurried over. "Who told you?"

The last two peach pies were more like cobblers with no bottom crust, so I didn't have to worry about soggy. I really love peach pie.

This is also not my fried chicken. That's another thing I have issues with. I think I used to do good fried chicken but it's not like riding a bike... you do forget. I tend to cook it too fast and have almost burnt spots here and there. Of course, it might help if my stove had one big burner that worked. (That's an excuse.) When my son and I talked about Sunday dinner plans, he asked if I wanted him to cook on the grill. "I thought I'd fry chicken, if that's okay." "I know it's a lot of work but if you want to fry chicken, Mama, I'll be more than glad to eat it." At dinner, I asked him why he thought my chicken was good when it was just okay. "How would I know the difference? I've only had yours and Grandma Betty's. Actually, anyone who fries their own chicken, instead of getting KFC or Kroger chicken, is a hero." How nice.

I wasn't fishing for compliments when I asked my son questions. I just know that he will tell me like it is and if he has suggestions, he will offer them. I cook dinner on Sunday for him and his children and any of his friends that want to eat. Usually it's just us, his two youngest children, his current significant other and her young son. Once in a great while his oldest and her boyfriend will show up but she's 17 and busy. My son's roommate and a co-worker join us once in awhile. Sometimes Mom comes over but she works Sunday morning and if the store has been busy, she's just too tired. She would rather kick back in her recliner with a glass of wine and that's fine. (I made a rhyme.) She'll be 82 next week and can do whatever she wants.

We don't go to Mom's house for family dinners very often because several years ago she informed us that she wasn't doing those big meals anymore. She has three daughters that know how to cook and they can do it. So be it. We get together maybe once or twice a year but it's a sad fact that my two sisters and I are not especially close. They are but the three of us, no. It's okay because things are the way they are.

So, next Sunday will be dinner at my house. If you're in the area, stop by. I fix plenty of food because I don't know how many will show up. You're always welcome here.

People

I don't watch television because I don't find much there but I do spend hours right where I am now, browsing and reading.I came across the Today Show Ambush make-overs. Wow. Some of the older women look years younger after make-up and a good hair cut and color. Come to my house, Make-over Ambush!

I saw a friend in Nashville today that I hadn't seen in a year, at least. She said that seeing a video of her last class reunion was depressing. I took it that she meant herself. I reminded her that she looked wonderful and suggested that she look at these make-over photos. Not to sound unkind, but some of the "before's" are brutal. They did make me wonder if I should color my hair. I'll ask Mom's hairdresser.

He's a delight. We were talking today about working with the public. What brought it up was the mention of one of my sisters. He asked if she worked in the store and said that she really shouldn't... she has no people skills at all. He then told about a customer of his that just pushed all the wrong buttons. He sent her out of his shop with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. I can see him doing that. He's a kind and generous person but we all have our limits.

I work four days a week and need to work more but four days at the restaurant are just about all I can take. It's been there for over thirty years and most of the customers are regulars that have been going there from the beginning, as adults or with their parents or grandparents. Too many think it of it as the place to get exactly what they want, no matter how they want it, no matter what's on the menu. I sometimes write a full ticket of explanations for the kitchen. (We aren't into computers there. We do our tickets the old fashioned way, which is fine by me.) "I want my eggs DONE but no lace on them. No butter on the toast and I want my bacon extra crisp. I can't eat it if it's not crisp." "I want a salad with extra tomatoes and my dressing on the side. (It always comes on the side. Forever.) No cheese on it, though. I'll have broccoli, put it on a separate plate, with the cheese sauce on the side. Mashed potatoes with the gravy on the side. Extra butter for my roll, too. Thanks." "I'll have the spaghetti but I want meatballs." "We don't have meatballs. It's meat sauce." "I don't care. I want meatballs." "Where do you think I should get those?" "I don't care. Tell that cook back there to make them." Right. I can only do four days.

I sound like I don't like what I do. That's not true. If I didn't, I wouldn't have done it for thirty years. I think that's it, though. Thirty years of waiting tables can wear a person down. Any job with the public for that long will wear a person down. But there is an upside to everything. The couple that's been married for 67 years and tell me I'm their favorite at the restaurant. He's got a stubborn streak and sometimes she'll form a little fist and tell me, "I'm gonna pop him one of these days." I sometimes lean over to hear him better (he's 93) and one day he said, "Get too close and I'll bite your ear." Flirt. She's getting very forgetful and it's sad to watch but it is just the way it is. One of their daughters comes with them several times a month and she told me, "People seem to think I should be doing something for her but what can I do?" I pat her hand or give her a hug and tell her she's doing all she can.

There's the older man who orders the same thing every day and always takes his cornbread home to eat with milk at night. No ice in his water and bring extra napkins. The fiftish couple who never complain about anything. Never, no matter what goes wrong and it sometimes does. And they tip better than average. The mentally challenged man who doesn't speak but makes "Uhh" sounds that we can recognize as pleased or not. When he gets a new caretaker, the supervisor tells her to bring him to the restaurant for meals and the staff will let her know what he likes to eat. He likes to be told to "Eat, eat" and will smile and point to his food. He has a good caretaker now. I believe I got the last one fired. She brought a book with her and read it instead of talking to him, which is what she should have been doing. I mentioned it to a woman who is also a caretaker but has other clients now. She sent the supervisor in to ask me about it and right away there was a new person. Good.

One day I had just hugged one of the older customers and as I was walking to the front of the restaurant I heard, "Are you giving hugs?" It was a small older woman who was with her husband, both delightful people. "I am. Do you need one?" "I do," she said. I leaned down and gave her a hug and told her that when I started working there I was seen hugging my son and was told that wasn't allowed. No hugging customers. I just said that if I couldn't give hugs, I couldn't work there.

There are rewards to the job.

I have new articles at Associated Content and Helium. Links to the right. Thanks for reading.

Hippies and such

I made this cake for my son for Father's Day and he loved it. He's now in New Mexico for the Rainbow Gathering, an annual event that always causes a stir among the locals, forest rangers, and this time Federal Marshalls got invollved. Their hippies, for God's sake. Leave them alone to do whatever it is they do. My son looks forward to being away from structured society, enjoying the outdoors, seeing friends, and playing drums.

To see what it's about, search youtube for videos on Rainbow Gathering 2009 and check out the

Rainbow Gathering home page: http://www.welcomehome.org/

Off to work.

I think it was a compliment

I'm often asked who does my hair or where I get it done. Askers are usually dimayed by my answer... I get it done in my bathroom by me. My hair is very short and mostly gray. I use Got To Be Glued spiking cream to push it back and up. My sister calls it messy but she must be the only one who thinks so. It's a rare day that I don't get a comment from a woman of my age. I love your hair, who does your hair, I wish I could wear my hair that way. The other day a woman said, "I just love your hair. I wish I could chop your head off and take it to my hairdresser."

That was a compliment, right?