Anyone who is even an occasional reader of this blog knows how “oopsie-prone” I am. The Lord knows I’ve told on myself enough over time.
I always laugh it off and say I had a “senior moment.” While talking to my younger son, Grant, the other day, I forgot the word that was on the tip of my tongue and expressed that sentiment. He suggested something much better, and I’ve now adopted it. When I’m caught short these days, I merely shrug and say, “It’s the meds.” That lets me blame it on something external.
Well, the medications have gotten in the way a couple of times recently, one in a minor way (if you consider putting the milk in the pantry instead of back into the refrigerator to be minor) and the other one a little more significant.
By the way, the milk didn’t actually go into the pantry inasmuch as it never left my hand, but when I tore free of the meds, that’s where both my hand and the milk were. Up with the cans of soup and chili and beans.
The other one takes a little telling. I often do not sleep well (it’s the meds … well, unless it is the sleep meds, then I don’t have the problem). But I digress, as I am wont to do. All week, something else has been added into the mix of things that make me sleep-deprived. I have developed a tickle in my throat that is difficult to cough away. This is especially true when I go to bed at night.
My late wife, Betty, had all kinds of allergies (she was a redhead), but I have never been plagued by them. She often said it was only a matter of time before they crept up and grabbed me by the throat. She was no medic, but she had a lot of practical, common sense, and her predictions often came true. Perhaps this one was morphing into reality, as well.
This morning, I stripped the bed and put the sheets, along with my other laundry, into the washing machine and dumped in the proper detergent and spot remover. It was already set for a heavy load, so I started the machine. Everything seemed fine.
Regular readers will recall that when I got this machine after our 1967 Montgomery Ward washer died last year, I had a problem because the new Amana immediately went to “Final Spin,” and did its thing. When I called in a repairman to haul away the deficient machine, he asked me to demonstrate how I had washed that morning. We discovered I’d used the wrong end of the pointer thingy to try to select a light load and ended up instructing the machine to go immediately to Final Spin. Then there was the time I bought softener instead of detergent and used that to wash my laundry for a month.
This morning, the machine sorta acted like it had that time I’d embarrassed myself before the repairman. It filled up, but immediately spun dry. You guessed it. I’d gotten the pointer doodad turned roundabout once again and was instructing the machine to Rinse/Dry. Since I hadn’t changed the setting from the last time I washed, that’s all that had happened then, too.
My skin crawls at the thought of how much detergent my sheets and clothes still retained and what the heat of a dryer had done to it. Needless to say, I threw the clothes from my closet in with the rest and ran them through a full cycle. Tonight, we’ll see if I have allergies or not.
It is amazing how much age changes you. In my youth, I’d have been so mortified by my ineptitude, I wouldn’t have admitted it to a soul. Now I broadcast it to the world.
Thanks for visiting with me for a few minutes. I work hard to fulfill that old saw. You know, the one that says we all serve a purpose in this world, even if it’s only to be a horrible example.
Next week: Depends upon whether there are any more oopsies.
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.