Told ya

Didn't I say there were more things in my head?
Yep.
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 It's not enough to have whiskers on my upper lip and chin. Not enough that my eyebrows are getting craggy like my grandfather's did.
Oh hell no.

I have Haireola.
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Grocery shopping. I don't love it. It's cheaper for me to go to the grocery store alone and plan meals for the week. We always spend more because I shop with Mr. Impulse.

But it's good. We have a nice time together. This week we went on Saturday evening, and I had to drive one of the store scooters to do the shopping, but even that has its fun side. Think of all the jokes a smartassed man can make about grannies and old people and scooters. Multiply by 11.

Although I really wish the scooter went a little faster, I suppose that might be dangerous to the general public.
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When I worked in the rehab place, we sometimes got scooters in for repairs. Some of those suckers were so hopped up they'd jump a curb! Some of the juvenile (brains... not chronological age) repair guys would fix them and then race around the warehouse just to make sure they were working properly. It was a lot of fun to watch, but safer to watch from a high shelf than from floor level.
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Getting up when no one else is awake.
I like it. 

But then, when people start waking up, I get sleepy and want to nap. How come everyone can't live on my schedule? Of course if they DID live on my schedule I wouldn't be getting up when no one else is awake.

Do YOU ever think in circles?
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There are two numb patches on my leg since the surgery. One is pretty small, about the size of a quarter.

One is pretty large, about the size of a salad plate. It's really, really weird to be scratching my leg and run into one of those spots.

Shawn says that usually a person does get the feeling back, but that nerves grow very slowly and it will probably take a year or two.
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Scars. I'm not vain. And it's a good thing, too, since I don't have anything to be vain about.

But wow. The scars on my knee are pretty weird looking. Sort of... twisted up. Knotty. I know they'll fade, and I'm not upset about it, but it's still disconcerting to look at them. They still take me by surprise... oh yeah, I had knee surgery July 6. Almost forgot.

The scar on my shoulder is just a thin white line now. The smaller ones, where the camera and assorted power tools entered the shoulder are just teeny little things.
The incision was about three inches long, and the smaller ones (five of them) were about a half inch each.
It's all practically invisible.
So I know the knee scars will eventually be fine.
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My parents celebrate their 51st wedding anniversary on the 20th. I am going to go pick up their present this week and send it to them.

Going to go to Costco and get them a digital camera. By the time this posts, I may have done it already. I may end up at Target or Sprawlmart... or just order it shipped to them... hey, there's an idea!

Theirs is at least 10 years old. It's a piece of crap. Time to upgrade to go with their new computer.
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Saturday, on one of the local news websites, there was a story about a missing woman. She is 61 years old and suffering from dementia. She left home to go visit her son (also local) and hasn't been seen or heard from since.

Now I sort of understand wanting to preserve the dignity and independence of the older adult, and to allow them to continue to take care of themselves and drive while they still can.

But it seems like every few months this is a local news story, leading me to wonder if it's just Portland. I'm thinking not. And wondering why people don't stop their treasured older person from going out alone.

I haven't seen a story update, so I don't know if she's been found. I sure hope she has.
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It reminds me of my grandfather Don (of craggy eyebrow fame... go read that and get to know him just a little, he was so wonderful and gee, I miss him...) and his eventual loss of independence.

He spent many years visiting my grandmother in the nursing home. She was no longer able to live at home because of her dementia. He visited her three times a day, every day, starting in 1982.

I took the kids and visited Colorado in 1998. We rode with him one afternoon to the nursing home. All I can say is, it's good that he lived in a small town and stuck to the back roads.

Two years later, he drove out to the airport to pick up my aunt, and crashed through the barrier arm that drops across the road until you pay for parking.

She suggested that he might need to stop driving. He got angry. She asked him, "What if that had been a child running out in front of your car?" and he was positive that he'd have seen a child... because the child would be MOVING.

After my grandmother died in 2000, my aunt talked him into moving to Southern California to be close to her. And when she came to get him, he asked how he was going to get his car out there.

He was really angry when she told him that he wouldn't need his car. He felt tricked, which he sort of was... but it was the only way she could think of to accomplish making sure he would no longer be driving.

It's just a miracle he didn't run over someone or get in a horrible accident in those last few years.

So how do you take the keys/independence away from someone like that?

I can sure understand how it would be hard, but when the person is losing it, putting up with anger to ensure his or her safety seems like a fair trade.

I just hope I never have to make a decision like that for anyone.
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Okay. Enough brain droppings.
Happy Wednesday, y'all.