Hello, I am my grandmother
I clearly remember sitting at my grandparents’ kitchen table in the farmhouse. Red-checked tablecloth, crazy orange vinyl flooring, white eyelet curtains fluttering at the open windows. I was about 10 years old.
As a highly sensitive person/child, I did a lot of watching and processing. While everyone around me was talking and laughing and getting lunch ready, I was sitting and taking it all in—the personalities, the aromas, the feel of the hard-backed chair I sat in, the ticking of the clock that always hung on the kitchen wall. I remember thinking my grandmother was old. After all, she had gray hair and glasses, plus grandchildren, and I’d heard talk of a cardiologist, whatever that was.
She was 65. Old.
And suddenly (yes, it happened suddenly) I am 65. What? But as I said to my husband a year and a half ago, welcome to Medicare. It can’t (I hope) be worse than Tricare.
Here’s a short life update to celebrate my oldness.
I am back to therapy.
Not for any terrible reason, just because I like it and it helps me sort out the frillions of thoughts that are screaming around my head at any given moment. I actually hugged my therapist when I saw her last week. Then we had to figure out the insurance piece because she’s never had a senior citizen as a client before. Go me.
I don’t know what I drive.
Last week I realized I had not yet received my Medicare card. Since I loathe phone calls, I decided to check the website and see if I could just request one. Turns out, you can actually download a copy right there online and it’s not even confusing. Medicare is already better than Tricare.
So I downloaded a copy and stopped in Staples to have it laminated since it’s on flimsy paper (and to get some decent pens—why are they so hard to find?). After it was finished and I was putting it in my wallet, I found my original Medicare card that they had sent me and I had forgotten about right there where Medicare cards go. Again, go me. Now I have two. But whatever. It was a nice day out and I was about to go for a hike in the woods to enjoy the weather.
I walked across the parking lot toward my gray minivan. As I approached it I saw the front wheels turned hard to the right and a flicker of doubt flashed through my mind. I don’t ever leave my wheels turned like that when I park. Then I noticed a slightly longer doubt flicker—the tires were very worn and I was aghast because I literally just two months ago spent $900 on new tires. Also, there was a lot of junk in the front—cups and papers and pens and stuff.
Still not getting the full picture and ignoring all the flickers, I opened the side door to throw my pens on the back seat and stood there looking at a filthy car seat and french fries on the floor. (Yes, I am judging.) Then it sunk in—this is not my van.
I quickly pulled the handle to shut the door and turned around to see a dad and his daughter walking toward me. I laughed and said, “Is this your car?” and he smiled knowingly.
He said, “I’ve done the exact same thing. Everybody has a gray minivan.” Never mind that his was a Chrysler and mine is a Toyota. They all look the same.
Then I said, “I looked at the tires while I was opening the door and thought, ‘I just put new tires on this thing! How are they so worn?’” and he replied, “Yeah, I have an appointment next week for new ones.”
So it was fun stranger-bonding at Staples over bald tires. Great day.
I read children’s books.
One of my favorite memories from childhood was the day my mother took me for my own library card and showed me how to use the card catalog. I have been a voracious reader ever since. My granddaughter Zola reminds me of me, staying up hours past bedtime devouring books and hoping my mother wouldn’t notice that my light was still on.
I don’t remember a lot of the books I read back then, but there was one about a family that moved to Alaska and lived where there were a lot of brown bears (is that redundant?). The girl told the story of bathing in a separate building from the house where you had to light a fire to heat the water and it got deliciously steamy in there, then you had to run to the house with your hair freezing while making sure there were no bears between you and the door. I’ve tried to find that book, but without knowing the title or author, it’s unlikely I ever will.
My favorite book of all time was Nightbirds on Nantucket, by Joan Aiken. I had that thing just about memorized as a child, and have even read it as an adult and loved it just as much.
So when a friend (Hi, Shannon!) mentioned The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by the same author recently, I had to go find it. And while it wasn’t quite as satisfying a story as Nightbirds, it was well worth the read. Children’s literature today doesn’t have nearly the vocabulary it did back then. (I’m not trying to sound like my grandmother, but I am, alas, 65.) Highly recommend both books for you or your children.
I am trying to befriend a kitten.
Because I don’t have enough to think about with cows (beef and dairy), sheep (lambs coming soon), chickens (meat birds currently in the freezer, praise the Lord, and 12 laying hens plus 7 chicks because chicken math), and a garden that is overrun by grass, I am wooing a sweet kitty.
She (he?) showed up one day and I texted my neighbor that her kitten was over here hanging out with the hens. She told me it wasn’t hers, that hers was home in the crate where it belonged.
Okay then.
I have no idea where this one kitten came from. I’m calling her a she because cuteness = girls, right? She appears to be 10–12 weeks old, based on my vast cat knowledge, and she was obviously hungry. When I threw dried mealworms to the hens, she dove in with gusto and the chickens pecked gingerly around her. So far, the furry and feathered are living amicably together. Kitty spends most of her day either under the coop or perched on the board inside the run. She thinks she owns the place, and the hens are allowing her top-of-the-pecking-order status, although she still runs away from me.
I’m just wondering . . . if I can keep Kitty here, will she be a deterrent to hawks? Time will tell. For now, her favorite thing is Meow Mix kitten food. I’ve heard if I can catch her, the county SPCA will spay her and give the first round of shots for free, then give her back to me as a barn cat. I don’t have the heart to tell them she’ll be a coop cat.
I have the dreaded virus of 2026 and it’s not Covid.
Back in early January I was sick with what initially felt like the flu, but without the sore throat and congestion. Body aches, fever, chills, and a terrible headache. It only lasted about 36 hours, then all the symptoms disappeared and left me feeling weak and so very tired. Within five or six days, I was back to normal.
Then in May I had it again. Exact same presentation.
Once more in July, but by this time it was taking me a little longer to bounce back. And then just last weekend it hit again.
This fourth time I was fed up enough to drag myself to urgent care and get some testing. In between naps on the too-short, very uncomfortable exam table, I met with a doctor, then gave a few vials of blood and had a chest X-ray.
The good news is that I do not have pneumonia, nor am I afflicted with Covid, the flu, or RSV. There was a fourth thing they tested for, but I’m lucky to have recalled 75% of what they told me. At any rate, it wasn’t that either. The rest of the tests would take a few days to come in.
Today I received a call from the nurse telling me that the Epstein-Barr virus test was positive. Isn’t that fun? EBV is what becomes infectious mononucleosis—mono. It makes sense from a symptom perspective; the residual fatigue and weakness are no joke.
So of course I had to start the googling. Did you know that roughly 90% of people worldwide carry the EBV in their bodies and never know it? In most people it is simply latent. It takes something to “activate” the virus. Can you guess what the #1 activator is?
Stress. Because of course it is.
Also implicated in EBV activation are a weakened immune system and hormonal shifts. My hormones stopped shifting 20 years ago, so I know it’s not that. And up until last year (before asthma), my immune system seemed to be fine. It is interesting to me that the asthma popped up first, and now this.
In addition to infectious mononucleosis, EBV is also associated with autoimmune malfunctions like MS and lupus, as well as certain types of cancer.
So don’t minimize the effects of stress. They are not just mental; your body is always keeping the score and it will have the last word.