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As all of Rolfe recovers from a very successful and wonderful Greater Rolfe Days (not that I got to attend many of the festivities, but I could sense the energy wafting through the town and seeping into my fairy bower), I find that I must recover too.
New people! Do not assume I am a namby pamby! I simply am still recovering from surgery. Oh, sure, as I walked along the parade route pre-parade, etc., I TRIED to wince in a way that people might ask, “Hey, lady! Do you have any staples and scars you might wish to show us? You haven’t had any surgery requiring OVER TWO HUNDRED STITCHES lately, have you?”
But nobody did. Clearly, I shall have to recover and go another route.
In the meantime, for anyone who happens to stop by as a result of the flyers my gang handed out, hope you’ll stop by again! Might I suggest a sample post or two? You might enjoy “Cat Lady of Reliance” or perhaps “Living in Abject Brave.”
And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…I shall be back!
In the midst of all the festivities going on here in Rolfe, I just wanted to say that I’ll be out and about with “Hazel Twigg & the Hollyhock Hideaway” flyers revealing the FULL-COLOR COVER of the book well in advance of public screening! There’s also an excerpt of the prologue and other goodies contained therein.
I’m not going to be QUITE as visible as I’d planned, but try and catch me in my polka-dot appearances!
You never know…they might be a collector’s item one day.
Some of you have wondered about the new “math problem solving” in the comments section. Quite honestly, when I would frequent other bloggers sites and encountered similar things, I would wonder myself. How annoying! Is all this hoop jumping absolutely necessary? Can the problem REALLY be that bad?
Turns out, YEP. While I was gone, there were over three hundred spams on my own little blog waiting for approval. All well and good, just delete them, right? B-but! What if I missed an actual comment from one of you? My heart, it would surely break! Plus, they just kept coming, and coming…
I therefore decided to put together this filmstrip-like brief explanation (now that I know how it is) in a manner that will hopefully easily and fully explain why.
PLEASE NOTE: This is NO such thing as RIFF-RAFF when it comes to hearing from any of YOU. I LOVE when you comment! This was simply in keeping with the Mozart/Salieri theme from the 1984 movie “Amadeus,” one of my favorites back then.
And now you know…the Rest of the Story.
See you at Greater Rolfe Days!
Naturally, as I regained consciousness more and more and a hint of coral appeared once again on my ivory lips, I was a popular patient with the nurses.
Oh, sure, they pretended they couldn’t find my dainty veins, requiring all sorts of thumpings and tappings as they basked in the glow of my somehow still visible glamour. Or that they need to do all this temperature taking or the python-like squeezing of my arm for blood pressure tests for health reasons, but I know.
They liked me. They really liked me, and they wanted to hang out.
So imagine my surprise, having at least ONE less worry as I slept at night in this tidy, modern hospital when I casually asked during one of these hanging out extravaganzas as two of them pretended I needed help to walk the halls, “Have you ever had bats here?”
“Yes,” one of the nurses replied.
“WHAT?!” I said.
“On this very floor! Several times…I don’t know how they get in.”
“Well,” the other hanger on chimed in, “bats can fit in holes the size of – ”
“I was going to say a matchbook, but yeah, that too,” she finished.
Later that night I saw one of those nurse culprits peek into my room. “Oh. You’re awake.”
Usually this fact would cause my nurses great pleasure. In fact several times in the middle of the night they would turn on the lights without warning, like a police raid, just to get me up – whilst “pretending” to need to take vitals, but I could see right through them. I know they just needed a dose of Ruth and could not wait ‘til morning!
“What do you need?” I patiently (a pun!) asked.
“Nothing,” the nurse responded. “I was going to get a fake bat and dangle it from the ceiling.”
“At the very least, I was going to come in here and make squeaking noises.”
So. It has come to this. I survive a near death appendix rupture only to die by heart attack.
At least I shall live to see the Greater Rolfe Days Sesquicentennial, which begins tomorrow. Surely you’ve heard of it! Our delightful town of 600 give or take will have Water fights and Scavenger Hunts and Art Shows and a Cemetery Walk and a Tour of Homes and a Bacon Fest, fer’ crying out loud! And the library’s having a Book Sale and there will be dances…it just doesn’t get any better than small town America and for me, it doesn’t get better than Rolfe. I love this place. Bats and all.
It has frequently occurred to me as time goes by that getting older is a lot like puberty. Your body is experiencing all kinds of new and unusual changes but they are to be expected whether you’re leaving childhood behind or getting one step closer to that shining light at the end of the tunnel.
For quite some time, I’d been experiencing unusual aches and pains. For example, in my “Cat Lady of Rolfe” post quite awhile back, it surprised me how much my feet had changed from when that fall happened a few years ago. Now my feet were puffy and strange. “Bah!” I cackled. “Drat!”
Or a couple of weeks ago when I went to sit up to get out of bed, and my stomach was oddly lopsided. “Confound it!” I cried.
Or that I’ve been so tired lately and haven’t been able to walk as quickly as I’d like and my stomach’s been bothering me more and more frequently. “Those whippersnappers out there don’t know how good they have it!” I would mutter over my bowl of steamed prunes, clutching my shawl ever closer over my shoulders in the sweltering heat.
I subconsciously started changing my inner persona from an older Lauren Bacall to that of Aunt Bea. Both women of a certain age, but I hope you can sense the difference I’m trying to portray. I thought this is what was supposed to happen! And I accepted it.
Because, guess what? My appendix burst! WEEKS ago! And it died! And then it came back to life and started attacking my large intestine!
And now, after an unexpected week in the hospital and over 200 stitches and 30 odd staples and 1/3 less of an intestine later I KNOW. Old age happens, yes, just not quite that fast, and not quite this early. I will be back and better than ever! It will take some time and Aunt Bea’s face, still puffy from the good fight, stares back at me when I look in the mirror and things will be a little slow going for awhile, but it will happen!
Life is Beautiful at every stage, and there’s nothing wrong with being Aunt Bea, it’s just not my time.
And speaking of time, I am so very grateful for that little voice that told me to get to the hospital. I’m sure it’s been howling at me for a long time now, but things happen for a reason – and only more time will tell.
[7/3 Update: This is Ruth’s brother, Dennis. Ruth’s secret suspicion below wasn’t far off and she doesn’t look silly, as she had hoped. Let’s just say she probably won’t be blogging for a few days. Prayers welcome for a speedy recovery!]
Oy! One day you’re riding the range, picking up sticks with a little pain, the next! ACK! I secretly can’t move! From my symptoms, I suspect appendicitis.
Let’s hope I look silly tomorrow, having been proved completely wrong.
It wasn’t so long ago that I was innocently minding my business, filling out paperwork in the lobby of a bank in Humboldt, when I was politely informed that my driver’s license was expired – and had been for quite some time.
Apparently, there’s no “official” notice of this fact, the driver’s license fairies just expect you to somehow know! They expect you to look at this dreaded photo of DOOM, this unpleasant reminder in the least flattering light, that you are getting older. No way am I voluntarily looking at THAT.
Thank goodness for bank fairies!
There was a time when I didn’t mind looking at that tiny photo. The time way back when you could actually SMILE. With your TEETH.
I fondly recall the last time I went to the DMV, to get my last name changed from “Broccoli” back to my original name that I’d always been proud of. Back then my driver’s license photos had always been amongst my best.
I confidently stood in front of that blue screen and smiled my widest smile, determined to make this the best photo yet.
“We’re sorry, ma’am. You can’t show your teeth.”
First of all, “Ma’am”?! I’m a “Ma’am” now? I knew this day would come! Second of all, I couldn’t have heard correctly.
“Why?” I asked, dumbfounded.
Apparently, it’s for some sort of facial recognition thing. Now, unless all the local, friendly police officers have been secretly exchanged for Cyborgs, I have no idea why this should be necessary.
I was dismayed with no time to recover, and my picture that day surely reflected that. But now! Now! The time had finally come to rectify the situation.
I’ll show YOU a smile with no teeth!
Lastly, heaven help me if I ever get captured by Aliens that act like humans and parade me about in public and don’t let me speak.
“Finally! I’ve been saved!” I would cry upon my rescue, “WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?!!”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” (GAH!) “We were looking for a much smaller woman…”
“Do you weigh about the same as last time?” the pleasant clerk asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
Well, they won’t let me smile with my teeth, after all. I think we’re even now.