Those 70ish Girls

FUN TIMES…DARN IT – BY VALERIE HALLA

This week has been a challenge with a capital D, darn it. Seems like as we age, life tries to test our patience and mine has been on pretty thin ice with a capital C, crazy. No matter how you spell it, why is life tough? It’s tough especially in my 70’s it seems.

Here are a few things that have happened to me this week and I’m not admitting to any of these being my fault:

1. After making homemade beef barley soup for my husband, I put the leftovers in a sealed container and put it in the fridge. The next day I grabbed the lid of the container quickly and it opened unexpectedly. All the soup poured out onto the fridge shelf and down the front of the refrigerator and onto the floor. Naturally I didn’t cuss nor yell.
2. After cleaning up the mess, I did chores. (Since my husband has brain cancer, I’ve accepted more responsibility around the house.) Later in the day I took the overflowing compost bucket out to the bin but didn’t think clearly and dumped the stinky vegetable skins, egg shells and organic leftovers into the wrong bin. I threw it all into the recycling one. Darn it. After vocalizing a few more nice words, I turned the compost bin over and cleaned out the rotting compost, rotting juices, smelly waste and used a shovel to throw it into the correct bin. Darn. I was still irritated. Was this challenge the last one?
3. My husband has trouble walking, weak legs being an issue from the radiation he received on his brain tumors, so he uses a wheelchair sometimes. I have trouble lifting it, then throwing it into the car trunk when we go out. One time I must’ve used too much of my overpowering brute strength lifting the wheelchair, after folding it up, I threw it angrily into the trunk. The next time I took it out from the trunk, the wheels were jammed together. Now my husband had to hobble around using a walker because we couldn’t open the wheelchair. Guilt set in. Another challenge. I was fortunate that my brother -in-law met us at the cancer care hospital when my husband had his next treatment. He was able to pull the wheels apart on the wheelchair, but it took a weightlifter’s strength. He fixed the wheelchair. I thanked him profusely. He’s barely 70 which I reassured myself was why he got it open. He was young. Sorta.
4. Also this week, I volunteered with a new program at the SPCA in Monterey. I take one dog out in my car after having gotten training and I signed all the right forms and had an interview. I basically get a date with a dog who needs to get out and about. The dogs can get kennel anxiety. The powers that be at the SPCA asked me to take pictures of my doggy date and what we were doing. I picked up my cute date, a terrier, Corgi mix and went to Star bees and got my date, Lola, a pup cup. I introduced her to some nice customers sitting outside in the sunshine. They loved my date even though she was a bit overweight and short. She was friendly and liked to be petted. I asked one older man to please take my picture with the sweet little dog. I was loving my new volunteer job. This was easy and fun. The man did a nice job snapping several pictures, BUT the man corralled me into talking about my Doggy Day Out then switched to politics. Being a polite person, I listened to him for a bit. I didn’t need to hear about which websites I should check out and what is happening in the netherworld of political games. It was a trap, a trick I hadn’t seen coming. Lola didn’t mind as she lapped up the pup cup, even though she was overweight. Who cares? Woofs and slobbers. She even tore the paper cup to shreds. As the minutes went by, I struggled to be polite to the man with his many conspiracy theories like fleas consuming a dog. Lola seemed to like all the attention. Politics be damned, this was freedom from the kennel! It was time to leave with a capital A, adios! Somehow I got away. Lola seemed just as happy as I was as she wagged her tail and looked up at me. We had a nice long walk together to end our sweet time together.

I know you’re thinking what a complainer and sissy that 70’s gal is. I am. You’re right with a capital W.

However, I had another experience at the end of the week that was a quick reminder of how important it is to count your blessings.

I was leaving the grocery store after shopping. I had dropped my husband off earlier for Physical Therapy. I was offering a senior man a shopping cart as I left the parking lot but he waved it off saying, “Thanks anyway, but I’m heading to the bank,” as he pointed to Wells Fargo. He crossed my path.

“Well, if you don’t need my shopping cart, that’s fine but I sure can’t help you with anything at the bank!”

“Hahaha! I’m fine. At least I have money to live!”

“Yes. And I’m thankful for a roof over my head,” I replied laughing. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“And I have enough food,” he added.

“We’re blessed,” I finished chatting, turning to walk to my car. The man waved goodbye.

No matter how angry I get over the small issues in my life: spilling soup, jamming a wheelchair, crazy aggressive people- that short exchange with a stranger made me feel calmer, happier and more confident and connected with a good life. Sure it had been a tough week, but sharing another person’s thoughts helped me feel that I’m not alone. Things aren’t so bad.

Lola was tired and happy to get back to her temporary home at the SPCA. The attendant who helped me return her noticed how Lola looked at me. She said, “Looks like Lola really had fun and grew attached to you!”

“Yeah, we had a great date and it made me happy to help an innocent and incredible creature who appreciated me. She gave me more than I gave her today though. Thanks.”

Sometimes it just takes a dog, a pup cup and short chats with strangers to make us realize what’s important in life. Wonder what next week will be like.