Ooopsy.

Again? Always oopsy! I was dorking around and thought I would go back to moderating my comments before they showed up. Beats me if I remember why I thought to do that. But then it appeared as if I was not getting any comments, so I asked Anna to comment, when hers didn’t show up in my e-mail like the comments use to I switched back to no moderation.

I found the lost comments. They are now published and my sincere apologies if anyone felt slighted or whatevered by that boo boo.

Please, never feel slighted by anything I do or say. My synapses constantly misfire. I have incredible brain damage. I was born with it. Some people who are prejudice against certain hair color would claim that that was my issue. But even after I started having children and my hair went dark the problem remained. Now that it is a lovely mature grey, the problem is really no better and no worse.

I say stuff that no reasonable person would dare to say. I lock keys in cars. I not only ask my girls to put the milk that I am clearing from the dinner table into the bathroom, I find that I put the frozen peas in the cupboard. I walk into walls that are clearly visible. I forget who I am. But I do still drive on the right hand side of the road, I think.

This is not an old age thing because even if you don’t go by chronological age and go by grey hairs and wrinkles, this stuff was occurring long before any of that arrived. I am looking forward though to the day when I can just cut loose and not worry about what the latest goof I have just managed to do, and instead just go with the whole doddering mindless old woman thing. Or heaven, which ever comes first.

Do those of you who are married ever wonder which one of the two of you will go first? I go back and forth on that one, but if I could be in charge of that and could pick, I think I am settled that I would like to go first. I know, it would be sad for Dirt, he wouldn’t have nearly half the things to laugh at once I am gone. But… my needs way out weigh his.

Yep, I’m going selfish here folks. (It isn’t that big of a stretch for me to do that you know, if I just schooch a little one way or another I would be sitting right in the center of self center.) I look at it several ways. As it is already Dirt doesn’t want to always talk to, converse with, me, okay, rarely does he, (it isn’t so much the listening to me, he does that just fine and doesn’t tell me to buzz off to often, the problem is that I sort of expect a cognizant sentient being to at least insert a “um-hum” every once in a while when I take a breath) but when he is here at least I can pretend he is engaged in the conversation we are, uh I am, having. When he isn’t here physically, I cannot pretend that well, I start to get all paranoid, I’m sure someone has a camera hidden and is watching me talk to myself. So if he “goes” first then there will be a lot of folks getting phone calls once I can no longer drive, and you’ll get personal visits until then. All day, and even into the night.

You know Dear Reader, I have told you about Dirt’s unrhythmic snoring, well I can actually make myself think that he is listening and responding to what I am talking about at three am because of it. So there is definitely a plus side to the whacky snoring he does as long as I am not actually trying to sleep. So if he wasn’t there at all, no offbeat snoring, no gurgling that I can make believe is him saying, “I guess so sweety,” then you could be getting phone calls at three am. Oh, I’ll find your number, even if you change numbers and don’t publish, I’ll find you and I’ll talk.

I think out loud. I have to hear the problem before I can even recognize it is a problem. I have to hear all the solutions before I can recognize that they are just illogical nut job ramblings, and most likely illegal to boot.

I have to say at least four of my big words a day or I just sure I might succumb to having a hundred word vocabulary. But I really need someone to look at me funny when I use the word so that I have to explain my word choice, thereby assuring myself that I still understand it myself. There are not too many people in this world willing to perform that service for me like Dirt. He never ever pretends he knows the big esoteric words. (Just then he asked what is esoteric, well not really, he just left for work but I can hear it, but if he “goes” first I will soon have a very hard time hearing him and seeing him screw up his face like I am making up words again and say, “what exactly does that mean?” Which he has every right to, because I probably am more famous (uh, infamous) for my made up words or using the wrong word on purpose or a name like it is a word, poor Sacajawea comes to mind (my “replacement” for expletive deleted) , than even my big word usage.

Do you young Dear Readers ever use that phrase, “expletive deleted”? Did you know that the Nixon era made that term popular, “expletive deleted”? Remember why? If you’re not old enough to remember you might want to check it out, just a little history tidbit.

Where was I? Oh ya, answering my own question; which would you pick if you could pick? The other reason, Dirt grounds me. Funny eh? No really, he does. Ya I keep him out of the wheelchair and active and that would be unfortunate for the girls to have to start wheeling their dad around shortly after I pop off because I tried some whacky dangerous maneuver up in the apple trees. But it would be much easier on them than being stuck with me.

My girls have never rolled their eyes at me, well, we won’t count that time the oldest tried it once when she was about fourteen, (sorry to out you Steph but I gotta be honest), but I definitely have a vision of them rolling their eyes at me when I no longer have Dirt to keep me grounded and somewhat level, okay at least at a thirty degree slope. I’m not sure I could handle it, I’m not saying that they wouldn’t have a right to but I still couldn’t handle it.

And poor Bet, the other girls would certainly stick her with me. Oh if I pop off first I can well imagine that they will come out to the farm to pick up Daddy and take him to their house for a visit. But I’m thinking they would be ditching me at every chance they got. Oh trust me Dear Reader, my girls would ditch me ’cause I would single handily drive them crazy. They would have to daily rationalize why they “would never be like mom.”

Ever see the movie Forget Paris, the old dad that they end up taking care of reads all the road signs they pass and goes around repeating the, “you want it, we got it, Toy-o-ta” jingle? Yeah, that’d be Dirt for sure but his girls will just giggle and say, “Oh, dad.” Not so sure about their husbands, they’ll be sitting their wondering if that will happen to them. But I’m not so sure my old age shenanigans will be so tolerated.

They don’t have complete dump and run options. Just prior to their births they were contracted to keep Dirt and I out of the old folks’ home. So they have to now. I birthed ’em, Dirt payed for them, they take care of us. I’m just hoping I’m not the last one left. And I sure as shoot better not be left in Carrot Manor state, drooling and on a feeding tube, cuz I’ll hear all their jokes and they won’t be funny!

A side note, the boys better be practicing “Oh Danny Boy” ’cause it is my one funeral request, well that and a boat load of food and beer and a good time. Any body caught crying will be put in time out staring at the side of a fridge. I know where I’ll be by then and I will be groovin. (Unless of course Mike’s theology on that is correct but then, I’ll just be waiting without knowing I’m waiting, either way I see it as a win win, major win win, ultimate “who cares about anything else” win win).

Okay, I gotta go pick beans, I’m thinking that all this is really a moot point for today, heck probably the whole next week or year, and the beans will die and rot before me. But I say it doesn’t hurt to talk about this stuff every once in a while.