Codependency

 Way back when, you know, those years when I was in a support group learning how to identify my own feelings, hopefully to form better, more healthy relationships, while healing from an abusive one, "codependency" was a bad thing. You wanted to learn to avoid it. It meant you were so dependent on the relationship with another that you didn't even know who you were without it.You were merely reactive to whatever and however the other person felt and acted.

Many years have passed, those goals reached, Steve and I have a very loving, healthy relationship. But let me repeat: many years have passed. We're not spring chickens any more. Our bodies have been discovering many ways to age ungracefully, non-functionally, often painfully.

Recently we have rewritten the "rule" about codependency being a bad thing. In terms of simply coping with life, we are figuring out how to fill each other's gaps, if you will.  The most obvious is our bodies have aged in different ways, but together we can accomplish what one used to. In Steve's case, he has difficulties in reaching things low on the ground or floor. A grabber stick - and there are three in the house - can only cope with certain kinds of things. But I have kept the flexibility to bend over and reach the floor to pick things up which still need fingers to accomplish. What is painful for him is just normal motion for me.

On the other hand, I have extreme difficulty reaching things up high, and the definition of "how high is high" keeps changing for me. But Steve can still do that easily. In that sense, we have become codependent. Both of us not only need the other, but are happy we can do things for the other. Even beyond our affection, it's just nice to still feel useful in some ways.

Of course the downside is knowing we have to deal with the lack of the other on what - fortunately - are still rare occasions. But the knowledge hovers out on the margins that for one of us that day will come when we are no longer "we" but merely "the remaining half of we". What we can no longer do by ourselves will have to get done some other way or not at all. 

This got driven home earlier this week. Steve had to go to the ER for a still unidentified pain. All the tests run were ambiguous. Not ruling things out, just not giving answers. He was kept overnight for observation, given some great pain control via IV, and another test was scheduled for the next day. I finally went home for some sleep, to return the next morning. This, of course, bumped into one of the things I can't do easily (meaning without extreme pain and possible dislocation) by myself, especially in cold weather.

I can only partially dress myself these days. In summer the layers are single, the sleeves shorter, the movements required much easier.  In cold weather I dress in layers, long sleeves under other long sleeves. They have friction against each other that cloth across skin doesn't. I get as far as head through the neck and hands to the ends of the sleeves... and there I'm stuck in a contorted bundle of fabric. My shoulders snag everything, the sleeves twist, my head catches the back of the collar, and I go marching off in a contorted position looking like a warped scarecrow to find Steve. He sees what needs to get pulled where while I can hold the inside sleeves in place at my wrists. We both laugh as much as you would watching us,  because it is so silly, but together it gets done and I'm ready to go face the world, even if that world is only fixing breakfast and coffee and watching the morning news. It might also be work, or some medical appointment, or shopping.

I was facing a morning of no Steve, and I was the one with the car to get him home. There was only one solution: don't get undressed! Fortunately my top set of layers are loose and comfortable. Being a geezer, I have frequently taken naps during the day in front of the TV or with my laptop open and... waiting. No tight spots, no irritations, unlike other parts of my wardrobe.  Now remember that I have no problems reaching low things, so I easily exchanged sweatpants for PJ bottoms, and had a solid night's sleep. My top outer layer was loose polar fleece, so no wrinkles to show, and fortunately no dirt. It even still held the sticky-badge that got me back inside the ER to visit Steve early in the morning. I'd needed it the previous evening when I left in search of supper while the staff kept dithering for hours about what to do with Steve that evening. Not only were there no rooms available for admitting him, the ER was also full.We'd already waited for three hours that morning from walking in the doors to getting a spot in the ER.

I returned to the ER the next morning after having breakfast and packing real food to have during the day as needed so I could stay with Steve. I got greeted with the news they were sending him home! His pain had disappeared overnight, fortunately, and none of the tests pointed to anything to fix. We were out of there in the time it took to print up findings and recommendations, and remove his IV line. He's still pain free a day later, catching up on real sleep he missed, and eating normal things for him. I'm catching up on missed TV shows via the DVR, and following the snow news, grateful to be home hours before any of that started here, and determined to be staying out of it until I can get somebody to come shovel for us... after it stops later

There will be much to be thankful for this holiday. And that absolutely includes our codependency.

Suicide By Kitchen

Whoa, whoa,  settle down. It's mostly a joke, and my apologies to anybody who needed a trigger warning - though if you needed one you've likely already skipped this post. But these days it's how I describe the several days of intense cooking prep needed in order to make my current version of stuffing muffins. Too many parts of me ache, and will continue for a while. The name is my reminder to question before the next time I undertake these whether it's really worth it. I happen to love those little boxed microwave meals, or mixing yogurt and fruit, or making a sandwich.... Steve is the cook in this family.

So far the family says it is worth MY work to make these. But a word of warning here - real warning. If you're starting now to make these for Thanksgiving yourself, you're already too late, unless you come up with a lot of adaptations. You might make it for Christmas, if you serve turkey and stuffing then. Or even Easter, the third time of the year I bother to do a turkey for. Or did.

Mostly if I want bird, it's the already cooked rotisserie chickens available in a lot of stores, still hot and served in a plastic bag. I will buy these throughout the year, and that's my start for making this stuffing. Once everybody's had their favorite pieces of the birds, there will be skin, juice, and meat left on the bones to deal with. I'll freeze a couple bags of the unwanted stuff, then haul them out and pop into a slow cooker (in lieu of a stew pot.) Add water to cover everything, and simmer through the day. Strain the bits through a colander or whatever stands up to the heat, and pop that broth into a container to freeze. Then you separate out the bits of meat - carefully! - and again, freeze those, and pop the rest in the garbage. Doing this throughout the year gives you stock and meat, once thawed. I hope you have a large enough freezer. It also works to include your turkey carcass(es). We bought a second freezer. This is labor intensive, but spread out through the year, even my shoulders hold up to it... mostly. I usually give them a few days off from other heavy tasks before and afterwards. But that's just me. You do you.

I do not add salt anywhere in the process - pretty much everything already has plenty. But if your taste buds need more salty flavor, or even more bird flavor, that time in the cooker before cleaning and freezing can be an opportunity to add chicken bouillon. Salt is variable in the brands.

The next big task is shopping. You need a huge pan for mixing this batch, but bowls usually aren't big enough, or are tippy, so I use the graniteware turkey roaster I inherited from my mom. You can still buy them, even if the stores try to sell everybody flimsy aluminum pans which won't hold a turkey without dropping it on the floor if you're not careful. You'll also need several muffin pans, whatever basically fills two shelves in your oven completely, so you can get by with the fewest number of cycles of baking, saving power and $$. Then stock up on cupcake papers, more than what you think you'll need. When decorated ones are available, they can be festive. Or just pick colors that look appetizing. (So far I've never seen a design with a screaming terrified turkey on it. No, that's not a suggestion. Just an observation.)

During the year I look for sales on certain things that store well, like craisins, aka dried cranberries. I used to be able to find orange flavored ones, but haven't seen them in stores for a long time. So I make sure to pick up a can of frozen OJ pulp, and somewhere in my stores of equipment will have kept a largish container with a lid that can hold the dried fruit, the can of OJ, and just a half- can-full of water. I like to concentrate the OJ flavor that the dried cranberries soak up a couple days ahead of baking time, so that's all the water I add despite directions for making juice. If you're stuck with pre-made OJ, even as fussy as I am, I'd use it anyway. This recipe process is adaptable as it has to be. ( My daughter hates that. She want's measurements! Really, just add more sage!)

Given lots of freezer space, I shop ahead for bread. Not just any bread. For those who can't have gluten, good luck finding the kind that works for you, or find your own substitute carbs to soak up the flavors. For each batch of stuffing, I get a 1 1/2 pound loaf of whole wheat, and a 1 pound loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. (I might add more of the latter.) Unlike a lot of recipes, I do not just throw together dried heels of bread. This is fresh and stays fresh. When I have the time, but at least a week ahead of the big event, I tear each loaf into bits, pour them back into the bags they came from, seal it back up and put it back in the fridge or freezer until the day before cooking. If you want to start in July for November, no problem, Just keep it sealed. Try not to squish the bags of crumbs between then and using. They have a lot to absorb ahead of them.

There is shopping that you'll want/need to do much closer to cooking time, including herbs, eggs, celery, onions, and butter. For each 2 1/2 pounds of bread, you'll need to chop and saute either a large yellow onion, or their equivalent, in butter or margarine. I also - separately - do the same with a celery heart or the same amount in long stalks. I start with the onions since I like the flavor when they brown. Celery just doesn't brown and takes much longer anyway. I give its pan its own butter/equivalent. Each full recipe usually gets 1 to 2 sticks of whichever I have on hand, divided between the two veggies as needed. In poor years, budget wise, I've used onion flakes instead of fresh, and celery seed or beau monde instead of fresh. I don't work with garlic so that's always powder. Not salt.

Each thing that gets added to the bread crumbs gets mixed in thoroughly. Each moist addition gets the mix a bit more messy, so paper towels are handy. I did experiment with chopped pecans but they weren't that popular. No biggie, more for me in other uses. Next to last are the spices. A lot of people like and have fresh ones. I don't. They spoil before I get to them. I like garlic powder, powdered thyme, rosemary after torturing it in a mortar and pestle to break them and release flavor. They are such hard little things. But by far the most important is sage. If you taste your mix (before you add the eggs) your sage will seem stronger than it is after baking. Some years it seems just right, others it tends to disappear by the time it's cooked and eaten.

I save the eggs for last, always. 6 of them well beaten go into the mix and like everything else, mixed by hand. (Again, paper towels are handy. You will be really goopy.) It's the only way to be sure everything is evenly distributed. Being raw is why tasting happens before the eggs go in. The reason they go in at all is they keep everything  together in the muffin cups. Otherwise all you get are crumbs.

One batch makes around 4 to 5 dozen, depending on how full you fill each cup. I like to pat the raw stuffing gently down into each paper liner where everything is touching the adjacent pieces. You can pile it so it's flat across the top or mounded. If it's flat it will bake for about 30 minutes at 350. If rounded, give it 35. If any spots in the tins are empty, fill them half full of water so the tins don't warp. When they are cool, I pop the muffins back into the bread bags I emptied and twist tie the ends to keep them moist, whether for a few hours on the counter, or days in the fridge, or even weeks/months in the freezer. They do last well that way, though a bit of a warm-up is nice. I generally figure on having two for every guest. Some will ignore them, others will take more and work to sneak a few out with them after the meal. Once I know they really like them I plan ahead for gift-packages for them if the meal is at my house, or just leave them behind with whoever the host is, bags and all, keeping my serving plate/bowl. I have learned to leave some in the home freezer before anybody ever sees one, because we both love them and each one is essentially a tiny complete meal in itself. (But shhh, don't tell them there might be more!)

Meanwhile I just pulled out the last of the batch of what started with 6 pounds of bread yesterday to cool. We each had two muffins last night for supper and two just now for lunch. I'll need to dig up a few extra bags as some will be going home with people after a very big dinner this weekend. I'm only doing turkey and stuffing. The rest is pot luck. 

Oh, and this year, for Christmas.... Steve is baking a ham! Next turkey day - as there is a second turkey in the freezer - I'll think about doing this again... really, really, really hard! (And more sage next time.)

Repercussions

 The morning after can be a much better time to assess injuries from a fall. The emotions have worn off, parts moved - or not so much - and sleep quality can provide better information.

Within a couple hours I knew one foot had issues. After much discussion with myself, plus rereading the label, I added a second Tylenol to my evening dose. I still limp, but the pain is on the outside of the foot about an inch behind the toes. I also am not going anywhere - not one more step -  without shoes with the proper arch supports in them, though technically this isn't in the arch. But with the arch supported properly, the rest of my foot is getting less play with each step. Morning meds again doubled the Tylenol, and we'll see how it goes. Steve worries that I need to go to the ER. What are they  going to do? Diagnose a break, worst case, put me in a cast and pretend I'm capable of using crutches with my shoulders?

Riiiiight! That'll work. Uh-huh, no problem. Maybe next year, eh?

Of all the bumps it's the only one still vying for attention. If I push around hard enough I can locate a bruise on my forehead that's too small to even color the skin. It's a classic case of, "Does it hurt  when I do this?" Followed immediately by "Well, then, don't do that, dummy!"

I did locate a tiny landing spot on my right elbow overnight. Not even worth a bandaid, and barely worth the astonishment that, again, the parts of me that went down hardest aren't the ones that hurt. Maybe it's padding on the side that landed first. Maybe I actually did lose some memory of the event during the event.  You do read that it can happen. I'm not going to worry about it, just assess the now of it, and decide if any action needs to be taken. The only thing that occurs is possibly putting an extra arch support in the one shoe to help keep weight off and add stability when I walk, which will be as little as I can get away with. There is always the consideration of how long the walk is from my recliner to the bathroom, right? Plus we're supposed to be getting a package today in the mail, so I'll have a reason to check out any possible impediments to my driving. I won't be walking there and back.

On the other hand, I did call the local police station this morning to talk to their captain. I wanted to be sure they knew how impressed we were with the way (turns out his name is Zachary) performed last night. Everything was spot on. His concerns were appropriate to the occasion, his ability to listen was perfect in hearing my specific needs, and his solution in the lift was an amazing show of strength without bravado.  He made sure I was OK before he left and dismissed the ambulance. When I finished talking with his captain, she informed me that my commendation would go into his file.

Steve and I both think he earned it.

A Five Point Landing

 It started with a delivery to the house... but to the wrong door, the one with the sign on the door window with "use other door" and an arrow. The wrong door is a step down with just a screen door to hold onto. The mentioned "other door" exits on the same level as the floor inside and has a covered porch to help mitigate rain and allow useful movement with full arms, whatever their burden. Our regular delivery people know where packages go. Others don't, and go for the one closest to the road, however awkward it is for us.

Steve got a notice that a package he ordered had been delivered. I was better dressed, meaning I had been outside recently and was still in extra layers due to being slow to warm up. It's a windy walk to the mail shed,  and November is chilly in late afternoon. Plus, I'm generally in better shape, in terms of mobility. I went to check at the regular door... nothing.  Back through the house to the other door, and there it was, a little thing leaning against the door, an oversized envelope with small items inside. 

I have to unlock two doors and step down to grab it, then turn, step up, and pull the storm door in behind me. As I turned, one of my shoes caught on the threshold, and down I went. I didn't even have time to react by putting an arm out to stop the fall, which, considering my shoulders, is probably a good thing. These days both will dislocate with the wrong pressure and angle. I knew I'd stopped falling when my forehead hit a lump inside the package which had landed on the floor just ahead of it.

I'm getting too familiar with needing help getting up after a fall these days. There was an added wrinkle this time. Inside that door is the utility room. You have the outer wall with that door and a window on one side, and lined up on the other are the water heater, a small cabinet, the stacked washer/dryer, and the furnace. In normal use there is room for one person either ahead of or behind a laundry basket, exiting or entering, with room to turn around and maybe carefully trading places with the basket. Yes, it's a bit tight. And I was in a lump between the wall and utilities.

I wasn't exactly dizzy from hitting my head, but I wasn't perfectly steady either. Even if I could stand at that moment, I wasn't sure it was a good idea.

Steve was ten feet away in his chair and heard me. Did I need help? Absolutely, but I know not to ask him for the physical work of it. Neither of us can or should pull the other person up. I asked him to call 911, which he did. I wasn't sure yet if I was hurt or not, so they dispatched an ambulance with paramedics, but a young cop got there almost as Steve hung up the call. I managed to partially sit up, cautioning the cop against pulling either arm in order to avoid dislocating either at the shoulder. It's way to easy otherwise to just assume you can grab hands and pull. He suggested he could put his arms around my chest under mine and do a dead lift.

I gave him a quick look-over. He was slim and I knew I outweighed him. I also knew the consequences of it not going well. So I gave him my scale weight to let him know what he was in for in case he wanted to wait for a helper, but he assured us both he was good for it. He readjusted my position a bit so all four of our feet were secure on the floor and gave an apparently easy lift. My legs worked fine as we complete getting me to a stand together.

Once I was vertical I gave myself a pause to be sure I was steady, and once I was he followed me inside to my chair before he cancelled the ambulance at my direction, received our well expressed grattitude, and left. After a couple minutes sitting properly in mychair, I went back out to lock doors and turn off lights. Places that hurt were starting to sort themselves out from ones that didn't.

Sitting here writing this, I am aware of a possible bruise showing up tomorrow on my forehead, as well as more on the arm I landed on, a couple on the other knee and on that side's foot. Even the uphill arm is twinging, so I must have managed to get it down to break the fall a little before I actually landed. That's the worst shoulder of course, and doesn't really need a new reason to bark at me. I am left wondering why the side that took most of the impact, based on my final position, took the least damage.  Just luck?

On the plus side, I finally have decided to trust Tylenol enough to start taking that for pain on a twice daily basis, one in the morning, one in the evening. That still leaves a lot of time without pain relief, but it also makes the bad shoulder more tolerable until I see the surgeon next month. It also isn't an NSAID, the only thing that really works for bone-on-bone grinding for me, but I'm still recovering from pancreatitis and am not willing to take the chance of interrupting that healing process. I will be taking the evening pill early this evening however.

In fact, now is good.

About That Seatbelt Problem

This is a new one for me. I've never had a car old enough - in calendar terms - to show this issue. I've taken lots of them over 300,000 miles back when I was a courier, even over 400,00, but that usually happened within 5 calendar years. I think this is an aging issue, and because of retirement, even the cross country driving as snowbirds hasn't taken the mileage up much over 170,000 miles.

But it's a 2013 model, so it has aged. It's also gone from heat extremes to winter and back again. AZ proved hard on various rubber components. While the door top gaskets got their fix by tucking them back in place and calling it OK, plus learning to grab the door in other locations to close it, the oil system needed actual replacements, with my needing to note any further drips or excess usage.

I use the seatbelt all the time. It's habit, like the parking brake is habit. It has been since 1975, when all cars were required to have seatbelts and laws mandated their use. I remember the year because that was when the family got a van. I loved/hated that thing.

Let me assure you the seatbelt still works... sort of. It does pull out, retract, latch and release. It's just gotten harder and harder to pull it out from the car frame, taking me both hands most days. Putting it back often means getting it uncurled right before where it coils up since it now likes to fold there. That's just an annoyance, some days more than others. While a delay, it's perfectly functional... eventually. 

Once both hands drag it over to where it latches between the front seats, shoving it down into the mechanism there is more problematic. It used to just click in place. Now I have to shove it, hard, and even with Steve helping from the passenger seat can take a bit. Releasing it is just as hard a task. These days, it's also painful, that being the side my worst shoulder is on. And let me remind you that post pancreatitis I'm off all pain relievers, trying to let everything heal as much as it can. While the docs are optimistic, the gut hasn't decided yet.

I'd love to think the latch part could just be oiled or something, and things would slip securely into place. Since it's a Hyundai, and this is small town America, the mechanics whom I trusted while on the job are nowhere close, if not also retired themselves. Here the locals proudly like Chevys and Fords, stubbornly refusing to deal with "those foreign cars". That leaves me with dealing with the dealership, a half hour trip away. 

OK, start with Google, ask for the price to replace my belt system, parts and labor. Just the one. Google says between $400 and $600.  Hmmmmm.... 

I called the dealership, asking for a price estimate to replace the driver's seatbelt. I called last Thursday. And again Monday. Yesterday I got the estimate from them. It was over $1,100! I thanked them for their work to find it out for me, and informed them I'd try to learn to live with it. Technically it does work, after all.

There will be issues of course. I have my first consult with the shoulder surgeon next month, delayed and rescheduled after the hospitalization. That likely means surgery will be delayed till next year. Once that happens there will be some chunk of time when I won't be driving while things heal and strength returns, starting with wearing a sling for a while. So Steve will be driving, and that's while dealing with his own health issues, which have resulted in me being the sole driver in the family for years. He did drive while I was in the hospital, so his confidence is back, but pain for him isn't just a daily yes/no but a moment to moment yes/no. Those long trips didn't help.

Mostly we fill in each other's gaps, if you will. I help with what he needs, and he helps with what I need. I tend to get my arms stuck in long sleeves, especially that second layer that has friction with the first, and need tops straightened and pulled into place. He can reach the high places I can't without risking dislocation. He needs help getting things off the floor and from low cupboards to save on back pain, as well as other things which I can do easily. He can reach the light between our chairs while sitting but I have to stand and turn to get it.We are quite the pair... so long as we remain a pair. Meanwhile we laugh about how we fit together, and do our best not to worry about the what-ifs of the future. 

Not too-o-o-o much, anyway.

Yep. Deer (Killing) Season

Normally when we're out and about we see zero deer. Around sunset they grow in numbers to maybe one or two. Maybe still zero. On the occasional day trip there might be a bloated one off in the ditch, victim of road kill. Or as Steve likes to put it, they learn the lesson of what it means to be Minnesota attack deer. Or Wisconsin attack deer, depending. We're close to the border and find no real difference. They may succeed in killing the cars they attack, but always at a price.

On what I consider a really, really lucky day, one can even see a bald eagle, picking at the rotting carcass along the ditch. I do mean lucky for both the person and the eagle, though luckier for the person if they'd remembered to bring their camera along. Possibly also for the highway clean-up crew, with less stinky weight to toss up on the back of their truck, but I suppose that depends on how together the remaining hide is keeping the remains, or whether they have to scrounge around collecting pieces scattered across the landscape, by then no doubt a very sloped and slippery landscape. One would hope they have cleats or similar on their footwear. Imagine slipping, sliding down that bank, and then sitting back in the truck!

If my nose still worked I'd try to describe the olfactory ramifications as well. But lucky you, not today.

Last weekend we had occasion to do a bit of traveling out on country roads. It coincided with deer hunting opener, which always coincides with the rut. The result even for non-hunters is the chance to see lots of deer. A few will be in remote fields, cleaning the stubble from harvest for some last minute fattening up for winter. For some reason these invariably are does. Perhaps young bud bucks too, but either way, not currently being bothered by the rut. Most of them will be much closer to the road however. Permanently so, at least until the cleaning crew makes its rounds. Inevitably they are very bloated as well. Those stomach contents are trying their hardest to digest themselves, as the stomachs' owners have given up the ghost. Just not the gas... yet. A couple more days, if warm enough, and it will no longer be a problem except for people who still have noses.   My sympathies to you all.  

(You notice a recurring theme here?)

Now if these were freeways, there'd be much less bloat visible and lots more highway hamburger, perhaps even the occasional limb stuck in some unlucky trucker's grill. Yep, I've seen that, on a truck with too busy a schedule to stop and clear it off. Maybe it just wasn't his personal rig.

Of all those deer, we saw perhaps a dozen that one trip up. It was dark on the return and, luckily, we saw none, not in fields, in ditches, or in the road.

 We had started seeing deer crossing the roads about a week ago. Amazingly, vehicles were stopping to let them cross. I guess a  small percentage of folks around here have finally learned that the attack deer can be expensive, especially with prices of grills, engines, windshields, bumpers, etc., skyrocketing recently from the weird bouncing tariffs.  My last attack deer cost me a new car when it killed the power steering on the one I was driving, as its age and mileage convinced the insurance company to total it out. That was long ago, fortunately.

We even saw a couple in a neighbor's yard last week. On one side of their house was a buck with a great rack. On the other side was a doe. Both stood so still as I drove very slowly past that I couldn't tell for sure if they were real or not. I mean, not even an ear twitching! When we returned later both had vanished, so we decided they weren't decoys. Besides, this was in town where no hunting is allowed.

(Note that the prohibition does not mean we never hear rifles going off around sunrise and sunset. We just hope those folks are out beyond city limits. This town isn't huge.)

We wondered why this particular yard had attracted the deer. It had nothing visible to offer aside from mowed grass. No bushes, no apple trees, nothing. Perhaps the owners had spread grain to lure them in, either just to watch them or to keep them away from hunters for a little while. I've driven past there since and haven't seen them again.

I was disappointed.

But they might have been the pair that stopped traffic on my way home from the store last night, including the ambulance with lights and siren going! Wise choice.

 

 

We Can Put The Hair Back In Now

 Which is to say I've been tearing it out over two days now - figuratively, that is. But the lost is finally found, and a plan is growing to prevent the next repeat. I won't guarantee all the repeats of course, but they won't be exactly like this one... which happens to be a repeat itself, if a little more drastic than the others.

Habits change, for all kinds of reasons. I've been working on the alternative to a decades' long habit for a few months now. I now know that when I count on the new habit being foolproof, there's still work to be done. But let's go back to the start of all this.

Back when I was working from my car as a courier, aka since '85 till retirement, I needed a way to keep my driver's license, credit card for gas, and all the other important little things both close at hand and hidden while I was out of the vehicle. I started buying the first in a series of pocketbooks, big enough for checks, cards, and cash, plus a few important photos of family. Unlike a man's wallet, I needed the length for holding a checks pad. Obviously that was many years ago. I still have checks, but I think I've used two since we moved back to MN. Everything is plastic or cash these days. I don't do Venmo or whatever non-contact money transfer programs are out there. The closest I come is giving a card number while ordering online or over the phone. Otherwise my regular creditors and debtors do the ACH thing.

I discovered ways to hide it from view in the car. All my cars for the last couple decades have had black carpet and upholstery, so that's a start. It's easy to carry when needed. Nearly all my needed cards fit in their slots, though that lately has pointed out a need for replacement, since the slots are separated by fabric, and a couple cards refuse to slide in peacefully. There are times I get frustrated enough to poke the small end in instead of the wide one, but at least a zipper keeps them in place enough until the next use. I do have a plan to replace it, but that just got moved up a few months... like to now. Or tomorrow or such. The hunt will be on.

Things I needed while driving that didn't go in the pocket book went in the nooks and crannies in the car. Extra fast food napkins (clean) went in the door pockets for quick use. Nail clippers, chap sticks, cough drops, pills, even a tiny hairbrush went in the center console. There was room for my camera when I went out shooting, or my phone when I needed access, though now driving without bluetooth means I don't bother to remove it from its trap in a pants pocket under the seat belt, unless Steve is in the car to answer it for me. New laws these days.

It's not that I didn't have any purses. I do, a couple ugly old clunkers that were always good for on the airplane to keep those necessities handy instead of way up in the overhead bin. Otherwise I didn't use them. Then last Christmas I was given a gorgeous purse, in bold stripes of pink, red, purple, green, yellow, blue, orange, and whatever else could be added to the blend. For simplicity, as well as favoritism, I refer to it as the pink purse. It holds everything, with room to spare for a book, water bottle, snacks, and more. A front pocket keeps keys and my tiny flip phone handy. And yes, the pocketbook fits in nicely... when I remember to put it in of course. Because the old habit still reigns when I'm in a hurry. Plus when loaded it's heavy. These days that's a literal pain. In fact even the pocketbook alone is a pain as well.

So what happened? Well, over the weekend we had a small road trip to a grandchildren's birthdays party. I took the big purse because it held a bunch of stuff I needed to take, including the birthday cards. The pocketbook was inside, not just because my driver's license is in it, but I knew we were going past a place with the cheapest gas around, and prices had just gone up so I wanted to be sure of the best deal available.

I filled the tank after the party, and took the pocketbook inside with me to buy a lottery ticket, just because. Upon returning to the car I put it somewhere.........  And that was the problem.

It was cold when we returned home and together we hauled inside only what we absolutely had to. I was still chilled from gassing up in a stiff breeze over 30 miles earlier, even with the heater functioning well. Steve had to maneuver his walker from backseat to house, now that his arthritic hip is acting up as much as my shoulder is, so I grabbed quickly and randomly, except for the pink purse which was not a random choice at all. At that point I believed the pocketbook was inside. Plus the colors are very visible in the car, should anybody want to be tempted.

Fast forward to the next day when I got a call to drive a friend to the ER. I grabbed the purse, made sure that a book I was partly through and a snack I could actually eat (as opposed to, say, the birthday party food) were inside it, and headed over. We got out of there after dark and in the snow, and spent the least possible needed time getting things back in the car. My pink purse just was tossed on the back seat. Its snack was eaten, its book a little more read, and off we went, straight home for the patient. I'd thought to order something from Arby's that Steve had been saying sounded good enough to try, but only after I dropped my rider off. I pulled over about a block away from their house, a spot with no street lights, and went to dig my pocketbook out of the purse so it would be handy for the drive-through.

It wasn't there.

I checked the door pockets, where it occasionally goes. Nope. A couple more locations. Also nope. I felt around the back seat where the purse had landed in case it had fallen out. Nope. Under the front seats in case it had both fallen out AND slide forward during a stop.  Nope. Nada.  SO.... no Arby's tonight. 

Had I even brought it? I recalled getting everything lined up on the counter ready to go but my visualization held no recollection of the black pocketbook. I called Steve to let him know I was a: on my way and b: minus my pocketbook. He offered to check the usual places until I arrived.

I could give you details of all the places checked, quadruple checked, and even then rechecked, including the least likely ones to ever host a pocketbook. I won't. It continued through the evening, including through the car in the dark of the driveway. I could describe an evening worrying instead of sleeping, the plans for how to deal with the worst case, starting with a new copy of my driver's license so I could go to the credit union and prove I was the one needing new plastic, etc., etc. Searching never stopped, even after I decided it would do no good until we had actual daylight in which to be back to search the car.

Memories were searched - when was the last time that ...? Then they were overwritten with "Well, maybe I..." or "Could we have....?" Nothing availed. What I did manage to do very successfully was convince myself that I couldn't trust my own memory. I knew I had it at the gas station. I knew I didn't have it the next afternoon and - oops - had been driving without it to and from the ER. Good thing I don't drive to attract the cops' attention!

Emotionally it was hair pulling time. I'd think of another improbable place not checked, or one checked three times already just to be sure it wasn't there for the fourth check. Clothing had pockets checked, regardless of whether it might fit. Clean laundry on the foot of the bed was hung in case the pocketbook had inadvertently slid or crawled under. Nutty, right? The final decision was that once I decided I could stand the cold enough to go out in the morning I'd bundle up and take advantage of the daylight and do a full car search. The interior would still be black on black, but daylight at least lets shapes emerge. After all, the black carpet isn't pristine and most of the dirt it holds isn't actually black, so that helps. Front of car including glove box and trash bag... nope. Under seats, front and back sides, nope. Backseat under the sign left from No Kings Day? Nope. (I mean, it could have slid under and then somehow shrunk in thickness so the sign stayed level over the seat, right?  LOL) 

Finally it was the  tough one. I'd been putting it off because if I opened the hatch, the hydraulics would spring it up, but then my bad shoulder would have to reach its top, which even with me on tip-toes is a really big and painful ask, just to close it afterwards. The other shoulder isn't as painful, but neither is it capable of even reaching the top of the open hatch to pull it down because I gave up trying to force it's muscles to do that knowing it dislocates for sure each time. I either avoid it when possible or try to wrangle assistance. I'd checked it anyway in the dark last night, feeling around with my hand, reaching into bags since we put the reusable ones in there for when we go shopping. I knew it hadn't been completely emptied after the party, and there were at least two bags with contents to come in sitting back there. I lifted one out... and my pocketbook was right under where it had been.

I'm sure it was laughing at me! I have no idea how it got there, or when. I don't even care any more. But I can quit pulling out hair and start putting it back in. Emotionally, of course.

Oh, and the lottery ticket earned us its usual: just the place it had been sitting in, waiting for us to recycle it and make room for another one, maybe next month. I can live with that. I won't need it for the next pocketbook... which will be white. Or cream! Or pink! Anything but black!!!!