THE AFTERMATH

Why is putting up Christmas decoration so much more fun than taking them down? It takes far less time to remove them. I pitched in this morning to help take everything down and pack it in The Home’s storage space. I admit I was feeling a little tired, but I wasn’t sick. I have been dormant for nearly two weeks. I can’t do that any longer. Keep moving or freeze up. I was definitely locking up — joints not moving like they should. It was getting tired, but I stayed with the project. I needed to. My Christmas lights were on both trees.

I really hated the tree on the main floor. It was one of those where every branch had to be inserted in the trunk. We are not allowed live trees — fire hazard. Just as well. I would not have wanted to clean up the needles. I am not sure why these things come out of boxes so easily and do not seem to fit back in. We squished the branches as flat as we could and eventually got the box closed, but there is a big hump at the opening. There wasn’t much to do on the main floor. All the big ornaments standing and hangings had already been taken upstairs.

From there we went upstairs. There were only three of us working but as things came to a close and the ornaments were off the upstairs tree and the tree was laying on the floor in three sections, we sat down and began talking. Three more women joined us. It was light and fluffy stuff until it got around to my stay in the hospital. You could die. Yes, and I will — sometime.

I wish people would take the clues from the person they are discussing and stop, but all these mothers moved into Doctor Mom mode. I hate that. I was cared for in the hospital and given very clear and helpful instructions. I even have them written down. Why they felt compelled to correct and add their input is beyond me. I felt like screaming. One of them is so annoying I want to run everything I see her coming.

“How are you?” This is not a greeting type comment. It is a thorough investigation into everything about me. She always, and I mean always askes what she can do for me. Nothing, nothing, nothing! She does not get the hint. “I’m going out, is there anything I can get for you? “Yes, a new Corvette.” Slight smile – “No seriously.” “No, thank you.”

Menus were tossed around; the best types of food were discussed. They clarified that a low salt diet did not mean — no salt (I KNOW). They suggested alternative spices and assured me that each one was wonderful and that I would like them. How do they know I would like them? I almost decided to hate them just because they assured me I would like them.

My “mother” just left. She had been out and returned with chestnuts that she just knew I would love. I disappointed her. They taste like something someone else chewed and spit out. She bought them special for me. She had been to Trader Joes and brought me a list of everything in their store that was low salt. I was expected to be excited. There was so much on the list and the print was so small I needed a magnifying class to read it. When I could make out some words, I was aware that even things a normal person would assume had no salt was included. Maybe some fruit juice has added salt, but the list assured me that there was no salt added.

I don’t mind a comment or two, but when the conversation will not stop they should have figured out that I had tuned out some time ago. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that the advice was unsolicited and I DON’T CARE.