Cashmere's Revenge

The other night I had a Pampered Chef party. I had nine guests plus my fabulous consultant, Sam, all packed into my living room. Every one of my guests likes and owns Pampered Chef products, most of the attendees knew each other, and my living room is not huge. Add those factors up and what results is a lot of fun, and a lot of noise. The party started at 6:30; one friend stayed after the party for extra visiting because we hadn’t seen each other in so long, and she left around midnight.

My cat, Cashmere, is very shy. She ran for cover when Sam arrived at 5:30 and I couldn’t even find her to offer sanctuary and delicious wet cat food in my bedroom at her suppertime. Amelia and I hoped she would come out after the party ended, but she stayed hidden. 

After Amelia left and I locked the front door, Cashmere came barreling out to eat and be petted. I complied, and played with her for a few minutes, but it was way past my bedtime and I needed to go to sleep.

I felt badly that Cashmere had been overwhelmed and forced to hide out for so long. When I was ready for bed, I left my bedroom door open so she could come in during the night if she so chose. This is a very rare occurrence because my allergy / asthma doctor is very firm that I can own a cat but I should not let it in the bedroom if I plan to breathe easily. (Oh, yes, I am allergic to cats. But I love them anyway.)

After I was all tucked in bed, comfortable on my side with my pillow and covers just so, and quietly sinking into sleep, Cashmere hopped up on the bed, plopped down on my pillow, and leaned all her weight into my face. You can bet that woke me up! I placed my hand between my face and her back and gave a little push, thinking she would move over enough to let me breath. Nope, she wouldn’t move an inch. The more I pushed her, the more she pushed back – and the louder she purred! I think she was planning to smother me in my sleep.

Eventually I pushed her with both hands and she moved off my pillow. The battle made me laugh hard enough to wake me up completely, and it was a long time before I went to sleep. The next day, I was exhausted, and my eyes were itchy and swollen from the contact with Cashmere’s fur.

I guess she showed me who’s boss! And I'm okay with her being the boss, because look how cute she is when she's not trying to smother me.

As we age . . .

As Bette Davis is reported to have said, old age is not for sissies.

The good news is that the one thing that doesn’t seem to wear out on old(er) people is the sense of humor. Without a sense of humor, old(er) people would probably give up and limp off to die in the woods, because Ms. Davis did not lie – old age really, truly, is not for sissies.

I am older than many of my friends, so I’m the test case. They get to see what to expect by watching my body parts fail. It started at 40 when I went to bed one night perfectly able to see things up close and awoke the next morning unable to read a book without bifocals or reading glasses. It seems to me that every year something else goes wrong.

Not long ago, I told my eye doctor that I cannot see very well, even with my contacts or glasses. After the vision exam, he told me the problem is that since I have always been very near sighted and now am also very far sighted, it’s simply no longer possible for any contacts or glasses to give me crisp, clear vision. His advice on the situation: “Pray for cataracts.” (The good news here is that once the prayed-for cataracts are repaired, i.e., the eye’s lens replaced, I will be able to see the items on my bedside table without my glasses for the first time since I was a child.)

A new one for me is having issues with hearing. My hearing difficulties are usually due to ambient sound – my old(er) friends and I can’t always understand each other when there is a certain level of background conversation or music. Sometimes when we gather, several conversations will go on at once, and there is some funny miscommunication thrown in amongst the “What did you say??” and “Pardon me? I didn’t hear that.” The other night, Becky told a story in which her daughter said, “Dad is old.” Since Mike is several years younger than I am, I said, “Oh, then I am past old,” at which point Kristin (who is actually quite a bit younger than I am) started laughing and said, “What?! Did you just say you’re an asshole?”

Sometimes the problem is not so much that we are, in fact, getting older. Sometimes, we aren’t really that old; young(er) people just think we are.

Several years ago, I suddenly began to see crazy flashy lights around my sphere of vision. This is the Facebook post that resulted from my visit to the optometrist, where I saw the youngest member of the practice:

So, today I had an emergency eye-doctor appointment because there was some question as to whether my retina had detached. Happily (thank you, Lord!), my retina was not detached -- a gelatinous mass called a VCD or PVC or some such detached from the retina, causing the vision problem. "A perfectly normal occurrence," quoth Dr. Twelve-Year-Old, "when we get old."

(Hilariously, one of my young friends posted this reply: “PVC?? Isn't that a drug?!? LMAO! Or a pipe?? I guess you know I don't do drugs. LOL.” It’s always refreshing to know it’s not just we old people who aren’t up-to-date on the drug scene.)

The extremely young, not very tactful, eye doctor reminded me of the general-practice physician I saw when I was in my 40s and did not consider myself old at all. This doc was fresh out of medical school, and was so young that my friend (who also saw him) and I referred to him as “the baby doctor.” One time I saw the baby doctor about a cyst growing by my eye. He removed the cyst and as he was stitching me up said, “It’s great that the cyst was right here. You won’t even be able to see the stitches. They will blend right in with your crow’s feet.”

My sister wrote this in an email last week:

As we age  . . .

Today when I got up, I had bags under my eyes as I have for weeks now, but I clearly slept mostly on my right side, because my bags did not match – the right one was much larger than the left. WTH? My left eye looked like a weekend getaway bag, my right like a steamer trunk. We are not amused.

Indeed, Susan. Indeed.

OU/Texas, October 10, 2015

Oh, everyone who knows me, stop acting like you’ve fainted! No one, least of all your humble servant over here, thought I would ever write anything about a football game. I know! But I have to say something about this.

The most important background about this situation is that the three following events are the only three times I’ve ever cared about a football game:

First time: When I was in 10^th grade, I was on the pep squad (why? I don’t know) and thus forced to attend all the school’s games. The only reason I cared about the game then was that I was newly in high school (back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth in Austin, Texas, high school started sophomore year) and wanted to be like all the other kids in high school. One remarkable evening, I even heeded the call of our pep-squad leaders to take off my socks because we had won games when it was too hot to wear socks with our Keds™ and now that it was cooler and we were wearing socks, we were losing. Some kind of superstition going on there, but I complied, even though I didn't understand how lack of socks would help or why several of the girls were crying.

Next up: When I was 18 or 19, the guy I was dating took me to his family’s home in the countryside outside Dallas for the weekend football game. His brothers were also there with their wives or dates, and my date paid for me to be in the football pool even though I said flat-out that I wasn’t interested. But it was a family tradition, so Jeff put money in for me. I was a total smart aleck and took the opposing team over the Cowboys. I never expected “my” team to win, but I did care a bit about the game’s outcome when it began to appear the Cowboys were goin’ down. In the end, I got the whole pot ($100, which was a fortune to me) even though Jeff had put in the money, because he and his family were so amused that I was so horrified, and they refused to let me return everyone’s cash.

Third and final: OU/Texas (or as they say in Austin, Texas/OU) game 2015.

Yeah, that last one’s recent, and it’s why I’m writing this. I actually was cheering for a team in this game. Fortunately for my sanity (and my reputation with my friends!), I think I have figured out why I gave a hoot.

Being an Austin gal in Oklahoma City, I have friends on both sides of the Red River and I follow a bunch of them on Facebook. Interestingly, even a couple of my most diehard Longhorn-fan friends told me Texas was doomed this year. Oklahoma hadn’t lost and Texas had won only once all season. I didn’t care. Big whoop. Meh. Whatever.

Then, suddenly it was the week before OU/Texas weekend, and my Facebook notifications increased exponentially. All the OU fans I follow were mostly silent about the upcoming game, even though their team was the favorite and the comments I did see were all “rah-rah OU, Boomer Sooner, we’re awesome” comments. All the Texas fans, however, were blowing my Facebook up dissing not only the University of Oklahoma’s football team, but OU in general, the whole state of Oklahoma, and everyone who lives here. Seriously! It was almost funny at first, but then it started to be not quite so almost funny, and by the time the weekend rolled around, I had begun to look forward to the game and to be ready for Oklahoma to roll right over Texas. (Boomer Sooner!)

So, finally, it was Saturday. The game was at 11:00 (in the Cotton Bowl, in Dallas, for the uninitiated). I didn’t care. I didn’t turn on the TV.

I did, however, do some errands around town and about 3:00 I wandered over to Qdoba™ for a snack. Qdoba™ has televisions in every corner, and I noticed the game was playing on one of the TVs, so in order to keep abreast of current events I sat facing the game. That was when I noticed the score was some crazy thing with Texas ahead. That was a surprise, given everything I’d heard about the two teams, but while I was sitting there, OU scored, and a Sooner win was still an option. Then I noticed there weren’t too many minutes on the clock, so I put down my book and actively watched the game. That’s when I saw the OU quarterback be sacked twice within five minutes! I was very unhappy. I texted Lisa and initiated what turned out to be a rather lengthy conversation about the game. I wanted Oklahoma to win. I very much wanted Oklahoma to win.

Then, it was over. OU lost and I almost started crying in my guacamole. Believe me when I tell you, I was more shocked that I cared about OU’s loss than I was about the actual loss.

And right then, Friends, was when I realized that while I absolutely did not care about the football game, I absolutely did care – and was a little ticked off – that the Texas fans were trash-talking my state and, by extension, everyone I love in Oklahoma, and me. Good-natured ribbing is one thing, and I laughed hard when one of my Longhorn friends posted “#owho?” after the game. Sadly, that friend was in the minority as far as good-natured Longhorn posts go, and even now, two full weeks after the game, truly ugly comments about Oklahoma (both the school and the state) are still coming across my Facebook newsfeed with amazing regularity.

So, here’s my point: Have some class, football fans. No one but you and your fellow fans give two hoots about your team’s win/loss. Your team may (or may not) be the best football team in your state, your conference, and/or the whole fabulous world of college football, but the fact is, your opponents love their own school and team with the same pride and ferocity with which you love yours. Just because you are a Longhorn or a Sooner or an Aggie or a Cowboy (or a fan from, Heaven forbid, some state besides Texas or Oklahoma!) does not make you and your people better than the people who support a different team. Show courtesy to your opponents. Don’t be unkind about the teams and people in other states. That's before and after the game, by the way.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t rib the other team or toot your own team’s horn, but you shouldn’t be mean spirited about it. When victory is yours, party on! Shout it from the rooftops that you rock! Do that for the rest of the weekend and then  . . . .  hush. Sure, post your “Hook ‘Em” or your “Gig ‘Em” or your “Boomer!” Support your team! But let last week’s game go – yes, even the Red River Rivalry game – and get fired up about your next game. Politely.

And while you are practicing being a good sport, I’d like for you to remember this, too. College football players are kids. They have the emotions of kids. Their actions and decisions are governed by immaturity and lack of experience. Maybe they were too cocky coming into the game and freaked out when the opposing team was tougher than they were expecting. Maybe they were disheartened when their opponents scored twice in the first ten minutes. There are probably at least a thousand things that can throw young players off their game. Don’t be so hard on them. They are kids. If they are good athletes, they will learn from their mistakes and will make you proud next time. Show them some grace. Give them a chance to improve.

BOOMER SOONER!

OWHO?

Whatever.

P.S. I'm not trying to dis the Longhorns here, and I'm not implying the Sooners are more sportsmanlike. I've seen all kinds of rotten behavior on both sides of that rivalry through the years, and a bunch more by other teams in Texas, Oklahoma, and other states. The OU/Texas game this year just happens to be the one that finally sent me over the edge.

My friend broke up with me!

My LOL friends and I used to have a friend, another avid cross stitcher, whom I will call (for the sake of anonymity) Eileen. Eileen was just as nutty as the rest of us, and a lot of fun. I met her when I first moved to Oklahoma, and since she was also a divorced old lady – my exact age, in fact – we hung around together quite often, even without the other LOLs.

After we’d all been friends for a couple years, something happened that made Eileen stop hanging around with the other LOLs. She and I did still hang around, though; we went for a walk every morning, sat up late on weekend nights playing games or stitching (and laughing), etc., just as we always had done.

Then one day, Eileen decided she and I couldn’t be friends. Boiled down to its most basic cause, we could not be friends because I was still friends with the other LOLs. I was shocked and sad. My feelings were hurt. I felt bereft.

At that time, the LOLs met every Wednesday to stitch and laugh. Eileen quit being my friend on a Monday, and when I met the other LOLs that Wednesday, I was still upset that my friend no longer wanted to be my friend.

When I told the LOLs “Eileen broke up with me!” they laughed and laughed, not at the end of the friendship, but that I said we broke up. To this day, anytime Eileen is mentioned (which is not often, but she was a big part of our lives for several years, so she does come up), someone will say, “She broke up with Jackie Lucy,” and laughter results.

A few years ago, a group of LOLs were at a stitching retreat and Eileen showed up at the retreat. She pointedly refused to look our way again once she saw us, and was unfortunately so obvious in her avoidance tactics that a lady we had just met and with whom we were sharing a table queried us about Eileen and her behavior. Someone explained we used to all be friends with her, especially me, and said, “But she broke up with Jackie Lucy.” The lady laughed just as hard as the rest of us at that – which is part of how she became our new friend!

I’ve never seen Eileen since that retreat, although I have read her blog and have seen her comments on the Facebook pages of cross-stitch shops we all frequent. I doubt she’s read my blogs, but if she has, I hope she remembers the LOLs in the good old days when we were all friends and all had such great times together.

Eileen, if you read this and recognize yourself, Hi! I wish you hadn't broken up with me! And, just so you know (and feel free to laugh about this) I still haven't woven the ends in on that baby blanket. Yeah. I'm rolling my eyes, too.