Monday, 26 September 2016

I am Fed Up With Myself, concerning Sex and a Fire

 
Well, I couldn't show you the sex

I hope this title is not a euphemism for being slightly depressed. When I started my blog ten years back, I set out to entertain: I wrote often about my eccentric father and brother from my elevated, smug, status of being younger and fitter. Now my parents have long since passed away and I am turning into them. Only I am not yet reconciled to this. Maybe I am refusing to face the reality of most of my in-laws becoming beset with serious health issues. Maybe I should be grateful that my husband is the youngest of five siblings so we cling to the illusion of being the last to 'go'. We've just had a visit from one of my sisters-in-law: her husband had to be taken to kidney dialysis twice during their brief stay of one week. The net result seems to be that I am indulging myself in an ugly display of bad temper, being very irritable and snapping at my husband for no particular reason. I have to take myself in hand. Of course, one way is to cross-examine myself in a blog post. How boring is that for any reader? One thing I might amuse you about is my stubborn refusal to face reality about my diminishing sex life. My husband has bad a 'bad back' for the past few months: of course, he won't admit it is caused by excessive carrying around of 50 kgm pockets of cement and lying on his side, pointing between the bricks of the little walls he is building around our vegetable beds. He has no cartilage left between two of his lumbar vertebrae. He is turning into my dad. Anyway, no decent sex for the last how long... So this morning, while he was in the shower, I decided to have a go with my trusty 'Dolphin' vibrator. I know that I have six minutes of privacy.  I have to confess that he, (the vibrator), is now about 20 years old, but carries on as long as one puts in decent batteries. However, it seems that his (the vibrator's) 'variable speed control' has ceased to function. It's either Full Speed Ahead or nothing.  This is not ideal. After a hectic minute and a half, a climax was achieved (or was it more of a stomach cramp?) and I was left gasping and perhaps wishing I hadn't started this whole exercise. This feeling was aggravated by the sudden appearance of my husband, before his shower, but after his shave (unprecedented), in the bedroom, enquiring as to whether he should do the back exercises I had recommended, before or after his shower? I can't explain how much subterfuge this took on my part to conceal my heavy breathing (the vibrator is quite noisy), but I think I got away with it.   Meantime, there are other excitements back at the ranch.... this afternoon, I smelt a suspiciously gassy smell downstairs.  When I went to look for my husband in his garage, he looked a little sheepish and confessed that he had just had to put out a fire:  he was welding the handle back onto our milk-frother, but a spark had fallen into some left-over paint in a bucket near his feet and caused a fire. Never a dull moment. 

Sunday, 11 September 2016

High Blood Pressure Blues

Google image

I've moped about a bit this week and not done much, not that I have high blood pressure, mine is terrific - 118/73 at last count. It's my husband.  We have a home monitor as he has had pills for years and someone said we should get one.  It has languished unused in the cupboard until recently when M said he was waking up every morning with a headache behind his eyes and didn't feel well.  We didn't think much of it, I thought it might be a residual sinus infection but we did take a test, using me as a control (hence the aforementioned-reading.)  Between 204 and 214 over something. We were scared. He had changed his pills a month before because he had to take a cocktail of 4 different ones, one of which had to be cut in half but it always crumbled so became annoying. These were replaced by only two but clearly, they weren't working. So we high-tailed it off to the local pharmacy where the resident nurse took his pressure on her two machines; the manual one that you pump up yourself:  130/90 (on both arms). Lovely, but short-lived relief - the digital fancy one (like ours) also read a consistent 204 over something. What to believe? For safety's sake we went to our doctor. Also a very high reading - and a lecture. However, she did prescribe new pills, supposedly really really good ones and we went home. My first thoughts were: what if he has a heart attack or a stroke? We live in a small town with the nearest hospital half an hour away. Trying to be pro-active, I googled the first aid, got equipped with Aspirin, and discovered the phone number of a local paramedic service. Apparently, if someone has a stroke, there is a good chance of recovery if they are attended to within two hours. My husband phoned his older brother and made a back-up note of the medicines he takes. A week later, so far so good, M ventured to take his first readings this morning,  175 and five minutes later 159 (over something - I still have to research the diastole/systole thing) 

The chaser to this story - if you have read this far... a couple of weeks ago, my husband woke up one morning, feeling a little better and  fancying to 'play around a little': mission was accomplished, leaving him feeling good for the day.  To my surprise, I was woken up later that night, half an hour after going to sleep with a similar request with a similar outcome.  Having recently listened to a radio phone-in show which concentrated on male 'recovery' times, the expert had said that the average 90-year-old could count himself lucky if he managed one erection a month. Work it back: my husband is 67.  The next morning, he apologised.  He said he had thought it was the next morning (is it all in the mind?) Anyway, on reflection, I am wondering if it was the high blood pressure needing an outlet? Whatever, it would be a good way to go, they say.  Happily, my husband is still alive. We play it day by day. He was hoping to ditch the blood pressure pills altogether by drinking a particularly nasty-smelling health tea which goes by the name of Cancer Bush. He has been taking it for 3 months and it smells like something burnt over in the oven. Huh! Faint hope.  At least, he can stop drinking the foul stuff now and stop polluting my kitchen. Whatever the other lessons in this exercise, it has made me once again, realize how much my partner means to me and how bereft I would be without him.

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

Pamper Party for 7-year olds?

 
My grand-daughters, aged 5 and 7


Although I sympathise that mother's rack their brains each year to think of a theme for their child's party, I do wonder whether a 'pamper' party  (this was not a known term when my own children were small) is suitable for so young an age.  We already worry that our little/big girls worry too much about their looks so is it healthy to emphasize hair/nails/skin/appearance at this young age?  What happened to party games: I remember fondly Musical Chairs/Statues, Pass the Parcel and Hide and Seek etc. at this age - all organised by my mother.  Is it just that times have changed and we are faced with The Evil Media and Keeping Up With the Joneses? What does anyone think?

Saturday, 3 September 2016

The Elusive Tricks of Memory

 
This was good - wasn't it?

I don't know if the following is short or long-term memory-related since I can't remember the timescale of the individual examples (LOL), but both my husband and I have noticed the following: whether we are watching a repeat of a murder mystery on TV, or re-reading a thriller because our small-town library has nothing new to offer,  or re-listening to an audio story in the car because we can't remember if we have heard it before - it is remarkable that neither of us can remember 'whodunnit' until the very end of the very last frame or chapter.  As the story goes along, things or people or events seem vaguely familiar or indeed, extremely familiar but the plot eludes us. Is this some selective function of our brains to prevent possible information overload? Would we have endless insomnia if we were to remember all these horrible stories in detail?  If so, I am quite lost in admiration at the intelligence of the human brain.  A pity it chooses to remember all the incidents in one's life when someone has hurt or insulted us. I believe in the maxim of 'forgive and forget', the forgive part is not so hard but the forget thing doesn't happen. Weird.