Yep, that’s right. My email address is getting way too many messages. Anyone else in this boat?
I’m not putting this out there for bragging about or fishing for compliments. I’m putting this out there because I am not going to read them all. Any coupons, weekly ads, going out of sale ads, or relisting of items that I was outbid on previously are going to my trash and junk.
—-UPDATE—- 112 Emails as of 1:43 pm —-
I prefer emails from family or friends. There, I said it. The biggest offenders in my inbox are WalMart and GFS. Hint*. There’s only two of us and we are not interested in 5 gallons of potato salad, nor products for infants. I know, I know, I am not the only person they send ads and emails too. But they can take me off of their lists, for like, ever-ish. (That’s a word… ever-ish. I add ish to a lot of words now. Given that American English is a living language I can make up all kinds of words -if I wanted to; alas I shall stick with ish words for the time being.)
Which brings me to my main objective in this rant… if brick and mortar stores and webstores are insisting on emailing me, I would at the very least want the information to relate to either me or my husband. I know that there are algorithms that exist for this very purpose. They’re imbedded in those fun, little, member cards.
Again, don’t get me wrong… if you are a real, human, family member or friend, I promise not to put your communications in Junk. It’s bad enough that I refuse to answer my phones anymore because of the crazy spamming going on.
It’s obvious to consumer’s that sellers are desperately trying to communicate with us all. Did they all invest in the Nigerian Prince with a great opportunity? (Haha).
Oh the list is endless at this point… Sadly so is my patience. So I shall leave you with these parting words of wisdom.
WORDS OF WISDOM BY ME:
How do you explain
Butterflies in your tummy?
Or how you just know
That it’s all going to be ok?
How do you accept an unexpected
loss which shatters your soul?
Why didn’t you know?
About ten years ago (+\- five years) and yet another fifteen years prior to that. This will make sense for you, (the readership in a few moments… hang in there.. I promise. Trust me.
I traveled to Arizona for a visit with my grandparents, sister and mother. It was time to find a full service, independent living, facility for my grandparents.
The three of us toured a few facilities each day until we found our ideal space for the distinguished Patriarch and Matriarch of my mothers’ side of the family. It took a lot of convincing to get them to see it, much less than the actual move from their condo to a facility we chose.
It was nice. They allowed my grandparents’ cats, furniture and even had it’s own kitchen. The forms were signed. Their condo was up for sale and I had to get back to Michigan.
Within a couple of months I got a call from my sister. She wanted to get a Tigger tattoo and wanted my opinion. I have a tattoo on my hip bone of Opus the Penguin. I got it when I was seventeen, so in my sister’s mind I must remember the experience…. eh… I didn’t. Seventeen and tattoos were common in my generation; remembering the details, not so much.
I did my best to explain it to her, but jeez that was fifteen years ago.
After many months of looking she decided to bring the multitudes of Tigger to a top three. In this process she had found a few other ideas that would be good on me and my mother.
She wanted all of us to get (at least one) matching tattoos. I laughed and questioned her rationale.
“It would be a bonding experience.”
Within the week I was getting pictures from my sister with a very noticeable Tigger tattoo on her calf. She even showed it to our grandmother for review. Apparently our grandmother approved and asked questions about it -the process, design, and pain. She and my sister often did Tigger themed things, like this cake, for instance.
The holidays had me back in AZ later that year. I laughed every time my sister brought up the “group tattoo idea”. However, by then, my mom had agreed to do it. My sister must have been quite convincing. They were going on and on about yin yang symbols, turtles, paw prints, etc. I was still holding firm on my “No.”
I had underestimated my sister because the day after Christmas she admitted something…
She had a plan.
I was still not in love with the idea or plan. Besides, why did it have to be handicap accessible? So I asked.
Wait for it….
My sister continued, “…Grandma wants to go too. So we will just swing by her new nursing home, check her out for the day, let her go first with her tatt, get ours, and then grab something to eat, sign her back in to the nursing home without drawing attention to ourselves and Ta Dah. No biggie!”
“We are NOT kidnapping Grandma, tattooing her in a handicap accessible (air quotes) tattoo parlor, having a late lunch and then sneaking her back in to her nursing home without anyone noticing ‘something different’ about Grandma.”
“Awwww c’mon. She really wants whatever we’re having.”
“Are you crazy?! No! Soooo beyond no! We could get in serious trouble for that. Oh My Lord. (*sigh) Did you tell mom?”
“She liked it.”
Of course she did.
This dialogue continued back and forth for quite some time -months.
My sister stayed on this kick for awhile and is over it now (I think). Our grandmother passed away within a few years -tattoo free. My mother is still tattoo free.
Part of me wonders, did my grandmother have a seventeen year old self who always wanted a tattoo, like me? What would she have chosen at seventeen?
I don’t doubt that she entertained the idea then, or at my sister’s plan sixty years later. I can only fathom what 1945 art was acceptable for her standards. She was a nurse back then. She had seen it all, and knew the human body quite well. She would know where we could keep it hidden and respectable.
This past Autumn, my sister, mother and I were together again and I brought up the group tattoo idea. We thought about it, tossed around some ideas and then got back to our independently busy lives; somehow still remaining connected.
Maybe the next time we get the chance I can get us all to agree on a tree. More specifically The Tree of Life. It would be a Family Tree of Life!
“The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
I think that I have a friend or two who genuinely care about me and my illnesses. I believe that I have some acquaintances who would be certain to talk to me if we were in the same place, coincidently.
Like this… “It makes planning nearly impossible. Many humans take for granted that they will wake up feeling “normal”, go to work, go see friends, go to their child’s sports game – same as always. 🌅👩🏻🏫👩🏼⚕️👨🏼💻👩🏻🏫👩🎤👮🏻👯♂️
For someone battling a chronic illness, you just don’t know. Instead of “planning”, it’s more like “hoping”. You “hope” you wake up feeling ok, you “hope” you can make it through work, you “hope” you can make it through your child’s play…..and each event takes its toll on your energy and health.
She goes on to write, “It is not because you no longer care or because the event is not important to you or the person is not important to you. You are missing out because your body has given out.
In fact, your body may be 4 or 5 events PAST too many by the time you just give out. It’s like driving a car that is running out of gas….you lasted on fumes, but finally despite all your efforts, the fumes have run out. The gas pedal is all the way to the floor, but she’s not going any further.”
My doctor had requested some blood work from me…, which, upon return, explained a plethora of my health problems. She was speaking another language (Greek? Latin? Dr. Speak?), regardless I needed Google. And here I am. 🌎.
Meghan O’Rourke has an essay called “I had Autoimmune Disease and then it had me.” It was printed in The New Yorker Magazine, Aug. 26, 2013. It came up in a Google Search for Hypothyroidism. She was speaking my language.
💩. I don’t even like me when I’m on fumes. 👺
Millennials are the demographic cohort following Generation X. There are no precise dates for when this cohort starts or ends; demographers and researchers typically use the early 1980s as starting … Wikipedia
I am writing this because I am worried about my two nieces and one nephew the Millenniums whom I love so much.
All three are very intelligent 🤓 (their school report cards can vouch for this). I’m not just being a “Helicopter Aunt.” They each have some very cool hobbies: Baseball, Volleyball, Cooking, and Computer games. Their parents are very supportive of the kids, and are happily married (since 1998).
They have unique friends and seem to be a sort of “renaissance” childhood plus adolescence. I am so happy when I get the chance to see them 😊.
They have been around the world, Paris, China, Hawaii, South America, Alaska, Washington DC, Florida, you name it, they’ve been there. Their parents believe that the kids need to see the world and really understand history (as opposed to an outdated textbook).
The one thing that is a very different for this Millennial Generation is community. It seems that they may have 400+ “friends” online, but how many do they really know? Everything is online. College, Loan requests, Dating, Music, Games, Notifications, Arguments, Banking, etc. Everyone feels safer to say whatever or be disrespectful behind their computer monitors or cellphones or ear buds. Right?
What are my nieces and nephew really going to do if “the grid” goes down? What am I going to do? Hmmmm. Or if they meet and fall in love with someone they met via the latest dating app, only to find out that the person behind the profile is not who they pretend to be? What is in the future for my darlings? Will emotional cheating become a part of trust issues? This even happens now! The two individuals/profiles have never met, they just had a “friend” online and it’s none of your business as to what is discussed? Sometimes it really is nothing, but there is always a special person that you can pour your heart out to. Remember You’ve Got Mail (Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan?). Bookstore brawl… Granted it’s not a recent film, yet it is relevant to make my point.
It’s been said that four out of ten marriages end up in divorce because of Social Media. (Sirius/XM Satellite Radio).
One out of 10 sex offenders use online dating to meet other people.
Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. It’s OK ’cause only about 3% of online dating men are psychopaths!
A study found that men who reported incomes higher than $250,000 received 156% more email than those with $50,000. That’s 156% more golddiggers, guys, so think twice about whether you want to post that kind of personal info.
On free dating sites, at least 10% of new accounts are from scammers, says Marketdata Enterprise, Inc. Catfish, anyone?
In 2005 alone, 25% percent of rapists used online dating sites to find their victims. Let me repeat that: twenty-five percent of rapists used online dating sites to find their victims.
A matchmaking service in Denver, Colorado says that 51% percent of online dating singles are already in a relationship, yet are putting themselves out there as being single.
A third of those surveyed said “They falsified their information so much that it prevented them from getting a second date.”
In 2011 alone, the FBI Internet Crime Complaint Center lodged 5,600 complaints from victims of “romance scammers” with collective losses of over fifty million dollars.
Each year internet predators commit more than 16,000 abductions, 100 murders and thousands of rapes, according to InternetPredatorStatistics.com.
I understand that this generation will have highs and lows that my generation can’t foresee. As I am certain that the Baby Boomers felt about GenX and had no idea that the computer would change the world and how we manage things when everyone is a winner.
“The Millennial generation is the largest in US history and as they reach their prime working and spending years, their impact on the economy is going to be huge.
Millennials have come of age during a time of technological change, globalization and economic disruption. That’s given them a different set of behaviors and experiences than their parents.
They have been slower to marry and move out on their own, and have shown different attitudes to ownership that have helped spawn what’s being called a “sharing economy.”
They’re also the first generation of digital natives, and their affinity for technology helps shape how they shop. They are used to instant access to price comparisons, product information and peer reviews.
Finally, they are dedicated to wellness, devoting time and money to exercising and eating right. Their active lifestyle influences trends in everything from food and drink to fashion.
These are just some of the trends that will shape the new Millennial economy.”
With all that they will be up against in their future, I just hope that my millennial family members know how much I love them.
I am really weird about food. Onion slices are ALWAYS next to Tomato slices in restaurants. The Onions ruin everything. It is so frustrating! I have felt the same way about pickles, jalapenos, peppers, etc.
Given that I am from Arizona, I don’t know why or how this happened -Mexican food was, well, awful -in my opinion. I loved the fresh chips and a very plain Chicken Chimichanga. But nothing could be on or near my plate. That made it a dry rectangle on a dessert plate. It’s supposed to be covered in a “Sauce” and Salsa with rice and beans as well as some little salad (onions included). I was the only person in the world of the Southwest who preferred Jamba Juice, Starbucks and mall food to honest-to-goodness real Mexican food..
So, moving to Michigan was a great thing for me. Potatoes, Berries, Steaks, Soups, great pizzas, Farmers Markets, oh my! Although I’m not a fan of the pickled eggs, bologna and of course, pickles.
I went through Jamba, Mall and Starbucks withdrawal. I was miserable to be around. My husband took me to the “Mall” north of the house and I cried. It wasn’t a mall! It hade three or five shops and no food.
What was I going to do here? Mashed potatoes come to mama!
Growing up, I wouldn’t eat a pickle. Dill, sweet, relish, whatever else was up to my co-lunch mate. My sister would get them off my McDonald’s burgers and pretty much everything else that had a pickle served was fair game.
I went to a pot luck luncheon recently and someone had made/brought these weird looking ham wraps of cream cheese and a dill spear. After much coercion from my friends, i said that I would try one.
I. LOVE. THEM.
Then all of a sudden I started to crave dill pickle spears. ?!
I mean really crave. I still don’t know what happened. I hated anything pickled and Mexican food; and then all of a sudden I’m eating Dill Pickles daily. At least they aren’t expensive. What’s going to happen next? Peppers on my pizza?
My husband and I attended the MSU presentation (we owned a pet store and the presentation was a customer service reminder) of “Give ’em the pickle!”
I was entranced. I found the website which the presenters got their information. Little did I know that there is a link between pickles and customer service. WHAT?!
“The idea of giving pickles away comes from a letter I received from a disappointed customer who was visiting the first store we opened.” (Bob Ferrell)
“The pickle philosophy has evolved from there as it’s been put into practice at various businesses. It may be about going the extra mile to make customers happy or putting your own personal stamp on customer service that sets you apart from your competition. (And I just gave it away.)
At my favorite tire store they literally run to greet me when I step out of my car in the parking lot. I’ve met garbage collectors who stop to start lawn mowers and coffee baristas who add a heart or other designs in the latte foam. Those are all pickles. What are yours?”
It may seem like an odd metaphor for customer service. I feel bad about not recognizing the intentional customer service.
Weird. Right? Now I understand why pickles are served with entrées.
I don’t know what triggered my love for dill pickles. I am a fan.
By the way, I’m not pregnant. I simply want to know why I love the stupid pickle -all of a sudden. Is it a body mineral thing? Potassium? Vinegar? Brine?
Maybe my taste buds are changing as I age. What a pickle!
(Edited to reflect the life that my husband and I are currently experiencing.)
For me, hypothyroidism has been a cruel illness to live with, especially with all its horrible symptoms. Hypothyroidism can be hard on a marriage.
However, if you add divorce and/or maybe job loss to that, it makes it even worse – I have met a lot of people in that situation.
From the Husband’s Point-of-View:
And there is no doubt that hypothyroidism can be hard on a marriage. As a husband, you will probably hear about this illness a lot because it affects all aspects of your life and that of your wife.
Besides, you might already be a little tired of listening to her complaints, not to mention that it might not always be interesting talking about the disease.
But don’t give up just yet, as there is hope if and when she gets the right treatment.
Let me describe some of my experiences in living with a thyroid patient.
She was sick for years before she was diagnosed. She was the “hypochondriac of her family”, at least that’s what she was told.
As years went by, more and more symptoms became known. Not only did she gain weight, she was also sleeping a lot.
But at the time, I didn’t know that she was actually ill – I just thought it was all part and parcel of getting older.
But she, herself, was convinced that something was wrong with her. Finally, she was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and was told that she needed medicine for the rest of her life, that she would feel well again, and that her symptoms would eventually disappear. Sadly they did not.
I didn’t really realize she was sick – I was busy.
Sure, I knew she was diagnosed and prescribed a pill -sick. But I also knew that since she was on medication, she should be alright, and so I stayed busy.
I was too busy and caught up with trying to manage both my job and almost all the housework at home like doing the dishes, preparing dinner, doing the laundry, cleaning, – all at the same time. I was too busy to really be conscious of my wife’s illness.
😴 She was sleeping all day
Of course, when I had the time I sometimes wondered why my wife was always sleeping when she came home from work. Sometimes she would sleep until the next day when she had to go to work again.
I wondered why she suddenly seemed to have problems with her employer**– she used to be a highly valued employee who was entrusted with a lot of responsibility. She used to argue with her Boss when he tried to interfere with her work – and more often than not she’d get her way. But suddenly, all her spirit was gone.
🤔 She forgot everything
I used to wonder why she kept forgetting everything – all the time: purse, credit card, cell phone, shopping list, where she was, and where she was going.
She gained weight, even though she was always following a serious diet. I couldn’t understand why.
However, I did not really think much of it. Maybe it was only natural. It didn’t matter to me. I was warned about Menopause. For all I knew, this could be Menopause.
😷 She was seeing doctors all the time.
In all this, she saw her doctor quite often and later some endocrinologist – I honestly don’t remember the details. She would often complain to me about her weight gain and about her troubles with getting back in shape. She could hardly walk, even up short stairs, without taking a break to breathe.
I listened but I didn’t really quite understand. And of course, sometimes I got a little tired of talking about the disease. I just hoped the doctors would help her. However, they kept leaving the physical office or profession altogether, thus a lot of time was spent on “new” lab work, or another referral. And life went on – daily life that is.
🤗 I got my wife back! Or so I assumed.
One day she told me she had found a new doctor (again!), and that she wanted to give it another try. He apparently gave her another kind of medicine – I didn’t really understand, at the time, the difference. I was busy.
🤓. Finally I understood
It was when I also came to realize how terrible she had been treated by her doctors, and how little, (people including me and many a doctor), had understood hypothyroidism.
🐘. I became her memory
What can you do?
How can you help your hypothyroid wife (or husband, relative)?
****That really depends on whether s/he is well treated or still struggling just to get diagnosed or find the right dose or treatment. We are still struggling with different doses and triggers (food, allergies, spices, scents, texture and cravings) that knock her out. 🤷🏼♀️
Brande is still struggling with the symptoms and/or finding the right treatment, there are many things that have be recommended to me:
You will probably be the first to notice.
🌏. Life can become normal again.
When your wife is well treated, she probably will not need that much support anymore on account of her illness, except for making sure that she does take her medication which you might need to remind her.
Also, she might need your help to explain her illness to other people. Hypothyroidism is a trivialized illness and very few know anything about the consequences and extent of the disease.
😐. Accept that hypothyroidism will be part of your lives.
😳. For the full article and hyperlink to other helpful sources please refer to:
Can I just say, how lovely Sunday the 22nd of April was? The sun was out, the temperatures were in the 60-70 range. There was even a light wind in the tops of the trees… ahhhhhhh. My intuition whispered, “Go for a walk.” My mom said -in her mom voice, “I am going to go with or without you.”
It is Morel Season, a walk outside might just render some delicious Morels. I made sure to wear a bright pink top, mud boots and tea tree oil (bugs hate it). My mom and I made the usual rounds up, next to my house then we went into the woods.
“You want morels, and I can help. No, I can’t reveal my secret locations… not necessarily because I’m selfish (well, maybe partly), but because it wouldn’t be fun for you. Morel mushroom hunting is adventurous. It’s thrilling, and it’s incredibly rewarding! If you’ve ever found any on your own, you know exactly what I mean.”
She didn’t find anything, but I did (golf ball). We just kept walking around, heads down, eyes peeled for the elusive mushroom. She managed to wiggle herself through brush almost taller than her and called for me, “Brande! You have got to see this!”
“Nope. I’m good. I’ll keep looking under the trees.”
“I found a skeleton!”
“It’s totally cool though…. it has human teeth!”
I stared at it, there were so many bones! The head, legs, ribs, spine, mandibles and we were so excited! We dug up as much as we could. Tissue free, yet marrow full; it was weighing down our Morel bucket.
Well since I’m “Bones,” I was getting all scienc-eeee and tried naming them…. come on 7th Grade Science, don’t fail me now…. “Ooooh that’s a rib! Or that’s back tooth… ere go; I carried on with my Latin -Physician wanna-be tone.”
We decided that these bones would be way more fun than mushrooms, and walked back to the house. We talked about our bones, potential murder (car hit? Bow? Rifle? Coyote lunch?). and what we were planning to do with/about them. For instance, what will my husband say? Hmmmmm. (Poor guy. It’s a good thing my mom moved in to help take care of us.)
Upon returning, we started to lay the bones on my deck and try to put them together. When we realized that there were a lot of leg bones we tried to decide not only where they went but what they were called. We got to the largest leg bone. My mom said “fibula or humurus” and I said “Thigh bone”. We bickered over this for quite awhile.
We continued “playing” with the bones for awhile and then went inside. My husband asked if we found any mushrooms… “What’s for dinner then?” Great question.
I was born and raised in the Valley of the Sun (Phoenix, AZ). I was never able or willing to appreciate Arizona. It was too hot and brown. Some say that one can fry an egg on a si…
Source: Big Things Become Little Things