by Paula | Mar 25, 2019 | Family, Paula Persists, Uncategorized
We live in a beautiful log home, with a master bedroom in the upstairs loft. The design does not accommodate a door to the bedroom, since it is the only room on that level. Most of the time, the lack of a door is not a problem for us. However, there are those other times…
After all, we are not quite empty-nesters; and have had to implement a certain protocol against intrusions at inopportune moments, protocols that have largely served us well.
For a couple years, we rented a small downstairs bedroom regularly via AirBnB. We were fortunate in that all of our guests were very courteous and obeyed our house rules, including the one about the upstairs being off-limits. But, even so, we were slightly uncomfortable with the lack of a lockable barrier to our room; but, the price tag exceeded our discomfort, so no action was taken.
Then, there is the matter of our critters; a dog and a cat united in their believe that Dan and I are missing the best part of the morning by sleeping until 6 am; and they are each determined in their efforts to awaken us much earlier.
Pooch Cleo is effectively barred from entry to our room by the flimsy, largely ornamental gate that Dan rigged up on the stairwell. However, Cats are not so easily fooled or deterred.
Kitty Pandi, has a predictable pattern to her efforts: she jumps up with great speed onto MY side of the bed and skitters across both of us rapidly. I should mention that she is not a bitty kitty, she has some heft. Once she’s jumped back off the bed, she paws at a set of blinds, which make a noisy racket; she then repeats the whole process several times until one of three things happens:
- She eventually settles down on the bed near Dan’s feet
- I get really annoyed and succeed in swatting her off the bed mid-flight (one time I accidentally swatted Dan doing this…but we don’t need to talk about that), or,
- Dan gets up and goes downstairs with her (which is a real victory for the kitty).
At least that was the pattern until recently, when a new and unpleasant outcome was discovered. This morning her aim was off. As she lept onto our bed she slammed, full force, directly into my heretofore sleeping face. It was a startling and painful awakening, and I shan’t repeat what I said upon assessing the situation. Pandi was also stunned, but much less verbal.
Today I am sporting a couple scratches on my nose and cheek, and a slight bruise on my chin; although I am exaggerating when I say it looks like I’ve been in a bar fight–it’s (hopefully) as close as I will ever get to a real fight, so allow me the extra dramatization.
I told Dan I’ll be bunking in the now vacant AirBnB bedroom for awhile until we find a solution to the ‘cat problem’. But, I reserve the right to break the rules and visit the upstairs… albeit at a reasonable hour.
by Paula | Mar 4, 2019 | Family, Paula Persists, Uncategorized
Last weekend I left the Wisconsin polar vortex, and traveled to Tampa on a mission to finish the scuba certification I started in January. It was also a chance to catch up with my friend, Cheryl, who lives in the area and who graciously allowed me to stay with her.
I’d had to reschedule once due to illness, and was anxious to “get ‘er done”, before our vacation to Australia in a month! I had been in contact with a dive shop/ instructor who assured me they could accommodate my schedule and complete the necessary dives: Per our phone calls we would be going to a few nearby training sites, including a sink hole on Saturday, and a hot springs site two hours away on Sunday. I was to meet the instructor, John, at the Dive shop at 7 am on Saturday morning.
My first indication that something was awry was after the plane landed in Tampa Friday night, and I turned on my phone. I had a message that there was a change in plans and I should show up at the dive shop at 2 pm instead. I was torn between being annoyed with the last minute change and pleased at the opportunity for a more leisurely Saturday morning.
I found out later that the change was because a second instructor at the dive shop had a family emergency, and John had to pick up two additional students for the weekend, who had not yet done their pool dives. This completely changed the previously carefully laid plan for the weekend.
On Saturday, I enjoyed a delightful, outdoor (!) lunch with Cheryl, and her adorable mutt, Griffin. I arrived at the dive shop at 2:00, and was told it might be closer to 3:00 before John returned with the pool-divers. They didn’t return until 4:30 and it was 5:15 before we headed out of the shop, and (at least) 6 pm before we hit the water at Hudson’s grotto: A deep, and cold sinkhole.
We (barely) got one official dive in, doing a variety of skills, before emerging out of the water into the dusk, un-assembling our gear in the dark. Despite being annoyed with having waited most of the afternoon – all for 20 minutes in the water; I was encouraged by the dive itself, and it gave me some confidence.
It was readily apparent that John was an excellent instructor; but either had very poor time-management skills; or was trying to do the impossible over the course of two days. Based on Saturday’s experience, I quizzed him skeptically about our schedule for the next day: Instead of going to the hot springs, which was 2 hours away; he needed to be in the pool in the morning with the two pool-divers; so we were all getting on a boat and venturing into the Gulf of Mexico Sunday afternoon–the boat would leave at 1 pm sharp.
My fellow divers included Hannah, an adorable, sweet, 18 year-old wisp of a girl, who worked at the dive shop. Hannah was quite knowledgeable about all the equipment, and helped me out several times as I fumbled to connect various hoses, canisters and she also kindly pointed out when I had my wet suit on inside out! Hannah, like me, needed only to finish the open water portions of the dive.
The other two divers, Nell and Mike, were doing the pool AND open water portions of the dives in one weekend. Nell was an athletic college student who was going into some science field that required scuba diving. Mike was a young, fit, and obnoxious fellow who was preparing for a trip to Honduras, Despite the fact that I went out of my way to introduce myself (thinking that if I did, he might actually acknowledge my presence); he completely ignored me the entire time–with one notable exception, which I will describe shortly.
John clearly had his hands full. I wasn’t pleased with the schedule changes, but tried to make the best of it. Sunday morning I had coffee with Cheryl, shopped at the Sponge Docks in Tarpon Springs, and had a nice Greek Salad for lunch, before meeting the dive ‘gang’ and heading out on the boat.
The boat ride was fun – we went 6 miles into the Gulf of Mexico. The crew included Captain Mike, Pete (a dread-locked and nimble dive master), Lauren (an advanced diver with aspirations to be on a Survival reality TV show), and Randy (a talkative, upbeat diver/photographer who regaled us with many diving stories–some of which may have even been true!).
Mike and I were assigned as dive buddies–which I’m sure was a huge disappointment to him (I know it was to me). As we were gearing up, I started feeling nauseous. The ocean was very choppy, the boat was rolling, and my stomach was starting to roll with it. When I announced I was starting to feel sick, Mike demonstrated his compassion by saying – “That’s a problem, because she’s my dive buddy!” (Even this remark was not directed to me.)
I was assured that I would feel better once we were submerged in the water. I did manage to get in the water where we collectively fumbled around for about 15 minutes on the choppy surface before we were properly weighted and positioned. Just as we started to descend, I started to vomit… profusely. Lucky Pete got the chore of hauling me back to the boat; where I proceeded to puke and dry-heave intermittently for the next three hours.
Hannah soon joined me in sick bay, where we each huddled in misery under our respective towels, periodically lurching to the side of the boat as our stomachs demanded.
I am now back in Wisconsin. I have the slightest hint of color in my cheeks, several trinkets and gifts for the grand-girls, memories of a nice visit with a friend, but no scuba certification. After a couple phone calls, a refund from the Dive Shop is pending. And, I have the satisfaction of imagining Mike swimming through the up-chucked remains of my Greek salad.
by Paula | Jan 28, 2019 | Family, Paula Persists
Dan and I are planning a bucket-list vacation to Australia later this year. We will spend a week exploring the Great Barrier Reef area, and I signed us up for a scuba diving expedition. This was particularly ambitious since Dan is Scuba certified, but I am not. At the time, I felt it would be easy enough to get my certification before the big trip, and during a recent weekend, I had to make good on my hubris.
Scuba certification
takes two weekends: One for the written
test and confined dive (in a pool) to practice skills and the second weekend to
dive in ‘open’ water.
I showed up for weekend #1 at the dive shop and met my fellow students: young, strong fellas prepping for a vacation in Jamaica. I suspected that I was not going to be at the top of this particular class. Getting a good score written test, in my case, did not translate to a stellar performance in the actual water.
Two things quickly became apparent: my mask leaked, and the water was cold. I am a lap swimmer, and am able to maintain a reasonable core temperature while swimming. However, one does not maintain body heat easily while sitting at the bottom of a lap pool, imitating a variety of non-aerobic dive skills such as mask clearing and breathing from your buddy’s regulator. About two hours into the three hour pool dive, I was shivering uncontrollably, and I tapped out; spending the next half hour under a hot shower; and absolutely refused to get back into the pool.
Upon return to the dive shop that Saturday afternoon, I purchased a new mask, and located a full body wet suit that I could use for Day 2.
Sunday morning, I almost bailed. I was looking forward to another morning in the pool with the same degree of enthusiasm that I felt towards the colonoscopy I’d had the previous week. Yet, Dan convinced me to go—agreeing to meet me at the pool to provide emotional and tactical support.
To help me catch up from bailing on day one, I was assigned a personal dive trainer for Day 2, Andy: whose first duty was advising me that I had (with much effort) put the wet suit on backwards. He helped peel it off of me, and began tugging it back on, facing the right way, grunting “Man, you have big calves!’ Eventually, my enormous calves and I were encased in the wet suit, Dan poured hot water into the suit, hoisted the equipment on my back, and I was ready to go!
The new mask and the wet suit, filled with warm water, made a big difference, and I was able to (barely) get through the necessary skills with a lot of persistence from Andy, Dan and myself.
I have planned a quick trip to Tampa in February for the second weekend of open water diving to complete my certification. Neither Andy or Dan are joining me, and it is unlikely that my calves will diminish in size between now and then. I can’t wait.
by Paula | Jan 1, 2019 | Family, Paula Persists, Uncategorized
New Years Day is the last of a series of lazy, slothful days that come with the holidays. Last night we were blessed with several inches of heavy, wet snow – which transformed our niche of the world into a winter wonderland.
Scrapping any notions we may have had to venture ‘into the city’ for NYE on icy roads; Dan and I trudged on foot through the relatively unblemished snowy roads to a local tavern about a mile away. As we approached the tavern stealthily on foot to a rarely used side-door; we startled the woman having a cigarette outside, who asked: “Where the Hell did you come from”? We enjoyed a couple drinks, played some tunes, visited with other patrons and headed back into the mystical white landscape–we were back home by 9:30.
I struggle to stay awake past 10:00 any night of the year, and did not make an exception to usher in the New Year. I do have a vague memory of Dan coming upstairs to wish me a Happy New Year with a gentle kiss–presumably shortly after midnight.
2018 was a year of many ups and downs — including those of the stock market (which seems intent on deferring many retirement plans). Overall, for us it was a good year: We have each other, good health and time with family. We have watched the grand-girls start school and start to learn to read and write, taking joy in the learning and in simply being silly at every opportunity!
I am venturing one prediction, that may be fueled primarily by hope and a smidge of wishful thinking. I predict that by Jan. 1 2020, Donald Trump will no longer be our President. Even the Donald cannot continue to survive the escalating barrage of criminal charges and other damning evidence of his true nature, which is a blend of a toddler demanding constant attention and a mob boss. He doesn’t care a whit for anyone or anything other than his own ‘fame’ and making money–consequences to others (or to our country) be damned.
Of course, this is speculation on my part, which is not my strong suit–a fact that can be validated by a glance at my investment portfolio… especially during the past month. I predict that we will not be retiring any time real soon–and THAT is a prediction you can count on!
by Paula | Dec 20, 2018 | Family, Paula Persists, Uncategorized
In recent months, I’ve suffered a severe case of Plantar Fascitis, a common ailment (especially among my tennis friends) that causes heel pain. It got to the point that I was hobbling and limping about most of the time, so I reluctantly took a few weeks away from tennis to heal my heel.
In desperation, I visited a chiropractor who discovered that the offending tendon on the bottom of my foot was snarled up in scar tissue, which he was able to reduce through a series of treatments, aka-torture sessions. I gritted my teeth while he scraped away at my foot–I was motivated to get back out on the courts. No pain, no gain.
After a 6 week hiatus, I played tennis twice this week, and my foot feels fine. It feels fantastic to be back on the court with my tennis buds, and I’m adhering to a strict foot care regimen to increase the odds that I will stay relatively mobile.
Getting older does kinda suck – in addition to my heel issue, my teeth have been giving me trouble. The only thing worse than undergoing a root canal is the throbbing pain of an abcessed tooth (or possibly having your foot tortured by the chiropractor–its a close call). Tuesday I had my second root canal of the year.
In case you’ve never had a root canal – I will describe it for you. A 12 year-old, who is allegedly an endodondist, shoots enormous quantities of novocaine into your mouth. Once you are numb up to (and including) your eyelids; he shoves a lot of rubber into your mouth to ‘isolate’ the field, drills a hole through your tooth, removes an enormous quantity of stinky gross shit from the depths of your gums, sucks out the infected roots, and extracts copious sums of money from your credit card. You then go to the pharmacy to pick up your prescriptions while half of your face is still numb, so you look like you’ve had a stroke when you try to talk or smile. I don’t think I blinked for three solid hours. The whole thing was expensive and painful; but left untreated, the infection would have caused its host (me!) unbearable pain.
Speaking of infections: it appears that the walls continue to close in on the Trump Regime: the rot is becoming more visible, increasingly painful and harder to ignore. Getting rid of Trump will also be expensive and painful; but he is a blight that needs to be removed in order to save the future of his ‘host’; our Democracy. I just hope it is sooner rather than later, we’ve suffered enough already.
by Paula | Oct 21, 2018 | Family, Paula Persists
Game 7 of the NLCS was last night. Maybe you saw us on TV? Dan and I were the ones dressed in blue and yellow Brewer garb, twirling our towels and cheering at the top of our lungs from the (not-so) cheap seats. We joined the crowd of 46,000 chanting “Let’s Go Brewers”, and boo’ing dirty player Manny Machada every time he came to bat for the Dodgers. When Manny got a hit – we screamed “You Still Suck”!
We were in a sell-out, Game 7 crowd (A bucket-list item for us); that collectively experienced a balloon-popping ‘aw shit’ moment, when Puig hit a three-run shot that essentially sealed the outcome of this Game 7 in the visiting team’s favor. Up until then the crowd was standing and cheering with every pitch – when that ball sailed into the center field bleachers, the crowd’s energy sailed out with it.
Yet, there is an upside: The Brewer Blue Wave this October gave us the NL Central Division Championship: An impressive accomplishment, even if they fell (just) short of the World Series.
Next up is an event with farther reaching repercussions: The November Mid-terms, where many of us are desperately hoping for a Blue wave of another variety. As with the Brewers, the Dems are unlikely to win the political equivalent of the World Series: But there is hope that we will win enough seats to interject a degree of sanity and accountability into Congress: enough seats so that the existing majority of groveling Trump sycophants (servile flatterers and fawning parasites) will no longer be able to do whatever they damn well please in their lust to further enrich and empower themselves.
Right now the dirty players are running the game: changing the rules in their favor, via Citizen’s United, gerrymandering, voter suppression, and other dirty tactics; and stacking the umpires (judges) in their favor. Without an intervention NOW, our country’s slide into Facism- will accelerate, resulting in a government that exists solely to maintain its most powerful and wealthy ruling class.
The stakes are high… even higher than a World Series Berth. Twirl your towels, speak your mind… and, for god’s sakes: VOTE!
