Source: Out of the mouths of babes………..
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Meeeooowwww…………!!!!
Don’t ever think you have your elders figured out……..they will surprise you, I promise.
Sometimes my Mom comes up with things that I cannot comprehend where she learned it. She’s not on Facebook or Instagram or god-forbid, Snapchat. She has a cell phone that we lovingly refer to as an Amish phone. It’s an old flip phone. Lately she has discovered texting but she often texts back a cat for some reason and often words that no one can translate.
But all that being said, she does use a computer and and iPad and tries valiantly to stay in the 21st century.
So we were out for lunch today and she told me this story:
“So your sister called me for her weekly check-in,” she said nonchalantly
“Oh that’s nice.” I mumbled through my vegetarian chili. “What’s new with her?”
“Nothing much,” my mom said as she stabbed her salad with enthusiasm. “But when she called, my tenant, Mark was just coming in the door to help me move a table.”
My Mom has a small apartment in the back of her house. Right now she has a lovely couple, Mark and Cindy who have adopted her as their Mom. They do things like sweep up the pine cones off her driveway, watch out for her when she comes home late at night and exchange treats. Mark is probably around 40-something. Mark and Cindy are moving soon and my Mom is going to miss them.
So when Mark walked in to my Mom’s kitchen and she was on the phone with my sister this is what transpired:
“Oh, Caren (that’s my sister), my sweetheart just walked in!”,my Mom said in her most girlish voice.
“Really?” replied the surprised Caren, as my 87 year-old Mom has made it very clear she likes living the Carmelite existence. “who’s your sweethearr?”
Caren, I’m sure, was thinking it was one of the grandchildren or even a son-in-law coming to do some chore or other that couldn’t wait…like bringing up the Christmas tree on October 29th.
“It’s my tenant, Mark!” my mom replied.
Then….with Mark right there in her kitchen and Caren listening intently on the phone, my Mom said, with a twinkle in her eye (I know this because she related the story with just that verve);
“I’m a cougar!”
“You Just have to Laugh…………..”
©2015 Cathy Sikorski
”
Just checking………
As my life changes now from caregiver to Executor, trust me. the frustrations and the sense of humor still need to be in place.
I spent two hours yesterday calling all the places that send money to my brother-in-law to thank them, but notify them that he has passed away.
I called two pension plans, one health insurance company, one drug insurance company, and one health insurance reimbursement company. Five phone calls shouldn’t take that long. However, there is no “press 9” if your loved one has passed away. By the time I was transferred to each appropriate department and repeated my story over and over again, I started to feel the ghost of caregiver frustration rearing her ugly head.
Truthfully, most customer service people were quite kind and sympathetic.
But there’s always one, isn’t there?
The health insurance reimbursement company was set up by my brother-in-law’s former employer to reimburse each individual for their health insurance premium as a temporary benefit when the employer no longer wanted to be in the health insurance business. This started last year when I had to wade through 64 health plans to pick the best one and then send in a cancelled check to have reimbursement sent directly to my brother-in-law’s checking account. I am certain that I had to fax my Power of Attorney documents to this company so that I could conduct this business while my brother-in-law was in the hospital.
The second person I am transferred to deems herself helpful in this way:
“I can’t find your Power of Attorney document in my system.”
“That’s okay,” I replied, “because I’m just calling to let you know that my brother-in-law passed away.”
“Well,” she said tartly, “I think you have to call back and speak to customer service about that.”
“Okay,” I said slowly and a bit confused, “but will they take care of this then?”
“Well, I don’t know!” she sputtered, “but your Power of Attorney isn’t any good for dead people.”
Oh my God, did she really say that? Actually, I say that all the time in my lectures where I’m teaching about what you need to do get your affairs in order, but still….really?
“I know,” I told her, “because I’m also the executor.”
“Huh,” she mumbled, “Well, I don’t see any executor papers here in the file.”
“I know that too, he just passed away a week ago,” I said slowly and patiently, or so I thought. ” I just wanted to inform you so that you stop putting money in his checking account.”
“Well, we can’t just do that. Did you call his former employer?”
“Why, yes I did, with no difficulty.”
“Well then,” she said with exasperation, ” they will take care of it.”
“So I DON’T have to call customer service?” I inquired.
“The employer will take care of it,” she said.
“Look, I just want you to note that so you don’t keep putting money into his account. Is that possible?”
“No.”
I didn’t tell her I was closing those accounts. I’m just smiling knowing those checks would be swimming around in the direct deposit atmosphere for who knows how long.
And I did not call customer service.
’cause well………….in these times,
“You Just have to Laugh…………”
©2015 Cathy Sikorski
A tribute…………
My valiant brother-in-law, Larry, who braved the disease of Multiple Sclerosis with dignity and grace has been the subject of many a blog. On Thursday, October 8, 2015 he passed away after a long, hard struggle. I honor him today and at his funeral on Saturday with love and gratitude for allowing me to be his caregiver and for finding the humor wherever we could to make this journey one that will be remembered with laughter and love.
To the things he loved: A good glass of “Jack”, NASCAR, children of all ages, and my sister Cindy. May they be dancing in heaven now and for always!
A case for the Paper………….
Midlife has it’s ups and downs.
One of my downs is sitting down about a hundred times a day to pee. This was even before my new healthy diet regimen.
My new diet requires me to drink half my body weight in water every day. I try to get this accomplished by lunchtime so that I’m not up all night in the loo. But during the day, I scout out ladies’ rooms as soon as I enter any establishment.
For some reason, I have now become the toilet paper goddess. Every where I go, and I go everywhere, the toilet paper roll beckons me to refill her. Initially, I thought this was a random event.
“Sure,” I thought out loud in a stall in Wegman’s grocery store one day, “you need a new roll!”
“No,” came the nervous reply from the next stall, “I’m fine, really.”
Oops. Talking out loud seems to be another phase of aging.
Then I noticed how deft I became at all kinds of different toilet paper delivery systems. It was like I was training to be a Navy Seal. I had to get the old roll off, the new roll unwrapped, slipped on the shaft, and snapped back into place, and unravel the glued end for use in record time. Pretty sure I was almost ready to take on an M16.
Eventually, it started to piss me off…pun intended.
Why oh why am I the only human being on this earth who knows how to change a roll of toilet paper? When I enter the stall and the paper is empty or one square is hanging on for dear life, I reflect on how it was just too much trouble for the last user to make this effort for the next guest.
Okay. Fine.
Since part of my new spiritual diet is being grateful, I decided to be grateful for every opportunity I have to make the next person’s ablutions an exceptional experience. I am grateful that there is in fact, another roll of toilet paper to be installed. I’m grateful that my bladder is working so well that I can discover a lavatory with internal radar from 50 feet.
I thought about giving up all these diets, but then who would be there to change the toilet paper?
“You Just have to Laugh….”
©Cathy Sikorski 2015
Here’s Mud In Your Eye…………
Every family has their legends. This is one of ours, but I’m absolutely certain it’s true.
My mother-in-law was one of the kindest, sweetest women you could ever meet. She was the quintessential housewife. Marie ensured that there was always great food on her table and good food available in her kitchen if she wasn’t there in that moment to prepare something for you.
Her freezer was never empty. In fact, she was so committed to having snacks available, that we deemed her freezer a “hard hat” area, in fear of all the goodies that would fall out onto your head if you opened the freezer door too quickly.
I was never fortunate enough to meet my father-in-law, but by all accounts they had a fine and long lasting marriage.
There were glitches, however. And when I hear stories like this, I am so proud of Marie. Words like moxie and gumption come to mind.
So one day, John, Marie’s husband, comes home from work and saunters out to his garden. Marie, who never learned to drive, has been home alone all day long with no one to talk to. She kind of waits for her husband to come home so that she can have a nice conversation, a nice dinner, and a bit of grown-up human interaction.
There was a time when she used to follow him out to the garden and chit-chat while he was weeding, pruning and picking ripe vegetables. But his grunting instead of answers, or turning his back to her, quickly made her realize he was in no mood for conversation, even though she was dying for a pow-wow, a talk fest, a tete-a-tete.
So when he immediately goes out to the garden, she’s well….pissed. She, of course, would never use that phrase. She might say she was upset, disappointed, or put-out. But let’s be honest, she was pissed.
When John finally comes in to wash up for dinner, Marie is in a tizzy. As her husband is alighting the stairway to go change out of his gardening clothes and get ready for dinner, Marie can’t contain herself any longer.
She confronts her husband, something like this, I imagine:
“It would be nice if you could talk to me for a few minutes when you get home from work.”
“What?” he replies as every clueless husband on the planet would.
“I would just like to talk a for a little bit.”
“We’re talking now,” he said, seriously meaning it.
“No, like just a few minutes to talk about our day,” she tries to sound like she’s not whining.
“What are you whining about? We’ll talk at dinner,” he responds ending the conversation and turning to go.
“Well, that’s not how I see it.”
And with that John says (in my imagination).
“Well, how do you see this?” And with that he spits in her eye.
Marie chases him around the house inside and out, the whole time the two of them are laughing, knowing how ridiculous this is….. but he never went to that garden first again.
Go, Moxie!
“You Just have to Laugh….”
©2015 Cathy Sikorski
Does Anyone LIKE Comcast? or I MIss Old TV…………
I am so ashamed. Yesterday, I said “F$%^@ YOU! to Comcast.
Of course, I’ve wanted to say that to Comcast on many, many, many occasions. But I have controlled myself. I’ve acted like a mature, grown-up and kept my temper until I hung up the phone and then said it out loud again and again and again.
I’ve said that to Comcast while watching TV when my cable box goes out for the 10th time in one night. I’ve commiserated with many a Comcast customer and we’ve concluded with “F&^% YOU, Comcast.”
But this day, I actually said it to the customer service representative.
I know you want the story:
“Hello, this is Cathy. I am the Power of Attorney for my brother-in-law. We need to disconnect his service, as he is now in a nursing home.”
It’s more complicated than that, because he’s only there temporarily, but I knew any other story would slide me right over to ‘upsell land’ trying to get me to buy HBO, STARZ, SHOWTIME and any other ‘deal’ of the day.
“Oh,” the representative replied, “I’m so sorry to hear that. Okay, let’s get this done. I need his home address, birth date, the last four digits of his Social Security number and your name and relationship to the customer.”
I gave her all the necessary information.
“Well, I see that account has already been cancelled.”
“Really?” I said with surprise, “by whom?”
“By Ryan, do you know someone named Ryan?”
“No, I don’t.” More disturbingly, I don’t know anyone named Ryan who would have my brother-in-law’s birth date and last four digits of his Social Security number.
“And what did Ryan say his relationship to the customer is, exactly?” I inquired.
“I don’t know,” she said informatively.
I paused here. My first thought being: “well how in the hell does some stranger without all this necessary information cancel this contract?”
But quickly followed by, “thanks, Ryan, whoever you are. Now I’m done with this baloney.”
“He does live in an apartment facility,” I tell the representative.
“Oh, well then that must be it, they probably cancelled it. It was done yesterday.”
So far so good, right? What could possibly have led me to swearing, losing my cool?
“Okay, that’s great,” I say, “now, I’m sure you will owe him a refund. How does that get processed?”
“The customer will receive a paper check in 30 days.”
“Excuse me?” I countered. “You have been taking money out of his bank account for five years. I would prefer that you just refund the account that way.”
“Oh no,” she said rather quickly, “it must be a paper check in 30 days. That’s their policy.”
“So let me get this straight, you have had access to this bank account for five years. Now you want to send a paper check to the customer who is cancelling service because they are moving away from the address where you want to send the check?”
“Yes, that’s their policy.”
“Okay, I know this is not your job. So could you please register my complaint to the ‘powers that be’ that this is ridiculous? That when people call to cancel an account, that you should either refund the amount to their bank account, or send it to their new address, since they call because they are moving.”
“No,” she actually said ‘no’, ” I can’t do that. This has been their policy from the beginning.”
Even still….I was holding myself in check.
“Well,” I said, “thank you so very much for NOT registering my complaint.’
“Have a good day,” she siad.
“Fuck you,” I said.
P.S. Five minutes later I called the phone company, which is a little tiny podunk town phone company, to cancel his phone service. That customer service rep asked me this question:
“Where would you like me to send the refund check?”
“You Just have to Laugh….”
©2015 Cathy Sikorski
It’s gettin’ hot in here. So take off all your clothes……
I’ve been so entrenched in caregiving, I decided I needed a girl’s day out. So I went out, all by myself. I need to find a mother-of-the -bride dress, because well, I’m the mother-of-the-bride.
My friends insisted I try to find a gown at Neiman Marcus. This store is ridiculous. On my way to the evening gown department, I walked by a “SALE” table loaded with purses. The sale was 50% off, as marked on the price tag. The first tiny clutch I picked up off the table is on sale for $2500.00 TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS! Hmmm. Might be out of my league here.
But my sister bought her mother-of-the-bride dress here and the price was well within all the other places we had gone to. I forged ahead to the snooty, fancy-pants evening gown 
department, which was right next to the shoe department where the Christian Louboutins snuggled every so comfortably next to the Jimmy Choos. Not a pair was under $600.
But, okay. I would not be stopped. I found a few gowns to try. I couldn’t find a salesgirl to save my life. So I stood outside the locked dressing room, struggling to hold these expensive, voluminous gowns while praying someone would come to my rescue.
Finally, a sales person shows up, ever so happily puts me in a dressing room and comments as she leaves. “Oh, I don’t think you want to try on THAT dress, it’s cut way too low in the back.” All that did was piss me off, and I said, “No, I want to try it on anyway.”
I swear to God, there isn’t one damn item in this store for less than $100, and now in the dead of August, when it is over 90 degrees outside, these dressing rooms are NOT air-conditioned. What, they can’t afford the electricity? I’m sweating profusely while taking off my clothes. Now, I’m going to try and put on slinky gowns that stick to me in every possible crevice. It’s hotter than the hinges of hell in here.
Many minutes go by and no one comes by to help me. I peek out of my dressing room completely unzipped and there’s a man chatting with a woman about the Jimmy Choo’s she’s trying on in the dressing room.
First, why is there a man back here, when we are in various stages of undress? Why isn’t there anyone to help me zip up a $700 gown. And why is it so damn hot in here?
I struggle in and out of a few dresses…nary a sales person in sight, except for the conversation I’m hearing in the next dressing room.
The man and woman are discussing how adorable the shoes are that she is trying on. THEY have a sales woman who is bringing them different sizes of shoes, in the dressing room. Is it me, or is that weird? Go to the damn shoe department, and take that cursed man with you.
And then I hear why I’m getting no help.
She: “So we have about 10 grand in shoes here.”
He: “Yeah, that seems right.”
She: “Well, we have four grand in clothes, so we’re right where we want to be with that.”
He: “Yeah. So the shoes should be okay.”
Why would anyone help little old me with just a $700 gown?
I’m pretty sure those two had their own air conditioner in their dressing room.
“You Just have to Laugh…..”
©2015 Cathy Sikorski
You Make Me Feel….like an idiot….
Last week I had to spend 8 hours in the hospital waiting for my brother-in-law to come out of emergency surgery. All went well, in fact, so well, that they sent him straight home. Because he had been without food or drink for 24 hours, I decided to go get him dinner and bring it to the rehab center. I didn’t trust that at 7:00 P.M. they would provide a nutritious meal, or any meal for that matter, because, you know, “the kitchen is closed.”
When I arrived at the rehab center with his hoagie, chips and root beer (okay, not so nutritious, but he was hungry and I was tired), there was a tray being delivered to his room. It contained one pathetic grilled cheese sandwich. That’s it, not even chips or a pickle, after no food for 24 hours. There wasn’t even a picture of Donald Trump or Jesus burned into the grilled cheese, and yet we were to believe that it was a miracle he had a sandwich from the kitchen at this hour!
The next day, I was exhausted. i just wanted to stay at home and work on my computer, sit on my deck, read a book and be left alone. As I was enjoying my solitude, I decided to play some music while I cleaned up the house.
I could not get the BOSE to turn on. The only way the BOSE radio and CD player works is with a remote control. The old BOSE, which died and they so thoughtfully replaced for a mere $250, had buttons on the unit and a remote. But someone in design thought, “Hey what do we need those buttons for? We have a remote!”
I’ll tell you what they need those buttons for.
So this remote which is the size and thickness of a credit card, does not work. No matter how many times or how hard I press those buttons nothing is happening. In my infinite wisdom, I decide : “Oh I’ll just put in a CD. I don’t need to listen to the radio.”
So in goes, Carole King’s amazing album from 1971: Tapestry.
I cant’ turn the volume up to drown out my warbling, because, you know, the buttons don’t work. So I sing softly, so I can hear Carole.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Msmnb676RxI
Three hours later I want to kill Carole. The earth has moved and everyone is so far away, but I can’t turn off the damn BOSE, because, you know the buttons don’t work.
I finally discover with a magnifying glass, in that credit-card-sized remote is a teeny, tiny place for a battery, which I do manage to purchase after going to three different stores.
It never occurred to me I could pull the plug, it was too late baby, for that.
“You Just have to Laugh…..”
©2015 Cathy Sikorski
Stay tuned for an important message…..
My friend. Lisa sent me a Facebook message this morning before 8:00 A.M. I happened to be up and reading the newspaper (yes, I still have an actual newspaper delivered). It was a bit odd, both for the time and the message as it was one of those ridiculous cat videos. Neither Lisa nor I have a cat, nor do we share any cat videos, as a rule.
But okay.
I responded with something like: “Hahah. Oh that’s cute.”
To which she responded: “Fuck. that was a mistake and I sent it to someone so wrong. HELP!”
I said, helpfully: “Haha. You and technology. You do have a brain injury, you know.”
She messaged back: ” I meant to send something else, this video is STUPID. Help me delete it.”
I gave her instructions on Messenger how to delete the message that went like this:
“In the messenger box at the top is a circle that looks like a sunburst and it says “options”
and then if you click on it it says delete conversation.”
To which Lisa replied:
“What’s the Messenger Box?”
Now, I’m thinking: “Oh, boy, we are in trouble” Since we are typing in the Messenger Box.
So I reply:
“When your are on your iPad in Facebook and you send a message to someone it comes up in a box. The message box to send a message is next to the word HOME after the silhouettes of the people…its like a bubble of conversation.”
To which Lisa replies by calling me on my cell phone so we can have an actual conversation…much like an actual newspaper.
“Help me get rid of this stupid video!”
“Okay,” I say, “get off your android phone and go to your iPad, it will be easier there, because I have an iPhone and the screen isn’t the same.”
After a minute or two as two middle-aged incompetent Facebook users try to communicate about things that look like bubbles and sunbursts and silhouettes of people and gear-thingies and where to click on them and see what it says, I finally get off my computer and revert to my iPad so we can be looking at the same screen.
We somehow manage to both get into the Messenger app and find a screen that had options on my computer but doesn’t come up with options when you click it on the iPad. Ugh. How can this be? Why oh why do they keep changing the options?!?! And then I see and owl icon and it says “help”. So I type in:
How do I delete a message?
Up comes an FAQ:
How do I delete a message?
Put your cursor on the message and hold it down and the message will be deleted.
All of that took 45 minutes and a lot of swearing. I never did get to finish “Dear Abby” in my
actual newspaper.
“You Just Have to Laugh…..”
©Cathy Sikorski 2015
Here’s the “stupid” video for your viewing pleasure: