WALK A DAY IN HER SHOES.........

On a serious note...yesterday evening I was sitting in my car, in the Triangle Town Center parking lot waiting for my daughter to meet me for some shopping. I'd brought a magazine to look at to pass the time. I was amazed to get the last regular parking spot right where the handicap spaces started.

I was pretty deeply engrossed in the article I was reading, tipped my head up for just second to take a sip from my travel mug and froze. There was a woman in the handicap spot one row over from me. She was just closing the gate on the scooter rack attached to the back of her SUV. I watched her...wondering how she would get in the vehicle now that her scooter was safely stored away and she didn't have anyone there to help her. The driver's door was open, so she must have opened that before loading the scooter. (I missed this) She stood there for a minute, then placed both hands on the scooter rack and slowly inched her feet around the side of her ride. She kept her hands firmly placed on the side of her SUV while she painfully and very, very slowly moved toward the open door, stopping every few seconds to catch her breath. It took her almost two minutes to go from the back of her car to the driver's door. When she got to the door, she stood there for awhile, head bowed and then reached inside the vehicle and pulled out a small stool. Placing the stool on the pavement she stepped onto it, paused for a few seconds, slowly turned herself around and using the steering wheel pulled herself into her car. She sat with her feet dangling for several seconds, then grabbing her legs, pulled them into the SUV and turned herself around in the seat. Finally after another break, she held the steering wheel and lowered herself out to grab her stool and pull it inside, before driving away.

I wanted to go help, but I was literally frozen in fascination at such a brave, courageous woman. I don't even want to take a walk around the block for exercise and this woman drove herself the mall and managed to get herself headed back home again. What a lazy, ungrateful person I've become.

Besides the fortitude this woman showed, she looked lovely. Her hair was styled in a blond bob and she wore a deep orange top over a flowy black and white skirt and black shoes. So not only did she take the time to go to the mall by herself, even though she was handicapped, she took the time to look nice while she was there. How many of us think about how we're dressed while we're out shopping?

Resolution to myself: Stop being too sluggish to fix myself up before leaving the house. Stop complaining about every little thing that's not absolutely perfect in my life. Stop bitching when I can't find a parking space close to the door. Think about this woman and be forever grateful for my strong legs and body and stop worrying about the fat around my middle or my ever increasing cellulite. How trivial! I've been moaning a lot lately, but I can't for the life of me figure out why I have anything at all to bitch about. How about you?

PEDRO SAYS...........

My hubby and I always try to make our road trips fun. Sometimes we rent a book on tape to listen to, we play the child's game of naming items we see starting with each letter of the alphabet, we name a certain model car to look for and score points for each one we point out.

On our recent trip to Florida we got caught up in the South of the Border signs. (SOB for true fans) For my Northern friends you may not know what I'm talking about, but SOB is a landmark on I-95 just over the North Carolina/South Carolina border in Dillon, SC. It is sometimes referred to as a "tourist trap", but I prefer to think of it as a "tourist complex". They have lots of shopping,(imagine 13 different styles of backscratchers), places to eat, a motel with over 300 rooms and a campground. The area is marked by a huge sombrero 200 hundred feet in the air which can be spotted way before you actually arrive at the exit.

What makes SOB really great is the billboards they have lining the highway for 200 miles before you even arrive there. There are 120 billboards, featuring their mascot Pedro and we decided we would read each and every one of them between Raleigh, NC and Dillon, SC...with a Mexican accent of course! I started and I got to read the signs as long as I didn't miss one. Once I became preoccupied and skipped one...my hubby got to read till he missed one. Silly...but fun when the signs read: "Pedro says: You never SAUSAGE a place" and "You're always a WEINER at Pedros". By the time you reach the exit...how can you NOT visit this place?

I just discovered that they offer a lovely wedding package there. Hmmmm, maybe for the renewing of our vows on our 10th anniversary?

DO AS I SAY...NOT AS I DO OR IT'LL COST YOU

I received my pre-operative instructions from my surgeon yesterday. Attached to the instructions was another sheet entitled, Rescheduling, Insurance & Financial Policy.

One paragraph really jumped out at me on that sheet: In the event that you should need to reschedule your surgery date for other than emergent situations, please be advised that a surcharge of $50.00 (fifty) will be charged to your account.

The next paragraph stated: Please also be advised that due to the emergent nature of surgery, there are instances when your surgeon may be called to an emergency or due to conflicts in the operating room, we may have to reschedule your surgery. We are very grateful for your cooperation in this regard.

Now hang on a dang minute...if I reschedule it costs me $50...if my surgeon reschedules I should just be cooperative, but I don't get $50. Hmmmm, seems like a double standard clause to me. Kind of like waiting in the office for an hour after your appointment time...but if I arrived an hour late...they'd make you reschedule. What's wrong with this picture? Oh wait...I get it...I didn't do eight years of college, plus a residency! Never mind...I get it now!

WHAT'S UP DOC?

Doctors really can be frustrating individuals. During my preliminary visit to the surgeons office last Wednesday, I was handed five sheets of paperwork to fill out before I was taken back to see the doctor. Three of those sheets asked about my visit and why I was there, along with other various life-probing questions, so I couldn't help but laugh when I was finally shown to a room and the nurse asked, "so how can we help you today?" Hello? Didn't I just answer that question at least three times before coming into this room? Okay, so maybe the nurse was illiterate, so I helped her out..."I was told I need to have my gallbladder removed." The nurse smiled sweetly, told me the doctor would be in to see me soon and left the room.

I was fine, until the doctor entered the room and said, "So what brings you to my office today?", while opening my chart. OMG...are you kidding me? Are you going to remember when you get me on your operating table and I can't speak up for myself, what the purpose of my "visit" is? After I brought the doctor up to speed as to why he was meeting with me, the rest of the visit went very smoothly as he explained to me in detail how he would perform the procedure.

Just be sure we're all on the same page on surgery day, I'm thinking about taking a magic marker and writing across my lower abdomen..."GALLBLADDER REMOVAL", just in case the doc doesn't have time for his morning coffee and experiences fuzzy brain. I'd hate to wake up with a colostomy bag and a stone infested gallbladder still firmly embedded in my body. The only decision I need to make now is...should I use a black or a red marker?

IF THE SHOE FITS........

I've become obsessed with shoes lately. I've always loved owning shoes, buying shoes, trying shoes on, but lately I find myself constantly checking out other people's shoes. I can't wear the 3"-4" heels I loved in my 20's and 30's, but I enjoy seeing them on other women. I sigh when I see an extraordinary pair of heels and wish that I could still bend my feet into those unnatural positions.

I was using a public restroom the other night and found myself checking out the shoes of the women in the stalls on either side of me. One woman wore a pair of nose bleed high heels in black and white with a touch of burgundy. Irresistible! These wonderful shoes belonged to a tall, long legged black woman with a silky black wig and wearing sunglasses...in the lady's room. Those shoes definitely fit her personality! The pair of feet on the other side of me were clothed in flats, done in a leopard print with a tiny bow on the toe strap and narrow straps wrapped around the ankles. Fantastic!

I've never had a foot fetish, but I sure have developed a shoe fetish. I decided after looking at all these beautiful shoes on other women that it's time to dump my comfy Croc sandals and start wearing some of the shiny, bejeweled numbers I've been stock piling in my own closet. Then instead of checking out the footwear, on my stall buddies, when I go to empty my bladder, I can look down at my own prettily clad tootsies and smile.

A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING & EVERYTHING IN IT'S PLACE

Organization is the key to conquering the world. It’s not “unorganized crime” and it’s not “unorganizing a coup”...ya gotta be organized to really accomplish anything.

I used to be uber-organized. I was the go-to girl if you wanted an event to run smoothly or simply see that things got done. Lately though...not so much. The world can rest easy again. Debe will not be “directing” a take-over.

I can barely make a list these days, although I used to live by them. Before I went to bed at night I’d make a list of what I wanted to accomplish the next day. Lists for chores, lists for shopping, lists for traveling, lists for parties...I was all about lists. Trees can breathe a sigh of relief cause Debe’s not using up pads of paper making lists anymore.

When did I start this downhill tumble into disorganization? About 18 months ago I believe...when I was laid-off. I HAD to be orderly when I was working. With an eight hour day in the office, plus my travel time...I needed to be sure I kept up with everything else that needed to be done.

I can get high off an organized day. It makes me feel alive to know that I left the house, lists in hand and made the perfect circle to each of the places I needed to visit in order to complete my chores.

Now, I stretch yawn and think...WTH I’ve got all day…I think I’ll take a nap before going grocery shopping or making the bed or doing laundry or grooming the dog or watering the plants. The days I accomplish the most are the days when I have a reason to get up and out of the house early in the morning. Then because I don’t want to come back and have to go out again...I co-ordinate my activities so I can get everything I need while I’m gone. Once back inside the house…the sofa or computer calls me and then I’m lost in the world of the disorganized again.

The key here may be in getting up and out of the house early, but I’ll have to take a little snooze and think about that for awhile. I’m just not up to “organizing” my thoughts at the moment.

BAD DOG!

How long after your dog rains down destruction can you chastise him? Our somewhat crazy ass dog Zeus destroyed the carpeting in front of my daughter’s bedroom door. And when I say “destroyed”, I mean ripped it to shreds. He tore it into pieces, including the matting and I’m sure he would have torn up the sub-flooring too if his nails had been strong enough. (Note to self: cut dog’s toe nails to the quick before leaving on vacation)

While we were away my daughter was babysitting both dogs. Hers is the prissy little Chihuahua who hates my husband and ours is a lab/chow mix who’s afraid of his own shadow. The dogs aren’t used to being left alone for long periods of time anymore since I was laid off a year ago and stay home most of the time now. My daughter however works 8-5. She put her dog, Dolce, inside her crate (where she stays when we’re not home) and closed her bedroom door. She left our bedroom door open so Zeus could go lay either on his bed or ours.

Obviously, he didn’t want to lie down. Being separated from Dolce for nine hours must have been too much for him, so in order to get to her he figured he’d just dig his way under the door and into her room. Have to give him credit for effort. There’s no more carpet blocking the door. A few more hours and he probably would have eaten the door itself. Luckily my daughter came home before he could begin his teeth action.

We now have options. Get the carpet patched...we know a guy who does this. Cut away the torn up part...and cover it with a throw rug. Replace it with a wood threshold...four feet wide. I think we’re going to opt for the wood. He WILL be alone in the house again and Lord knows I don’t want to feel like killing him, should he annihilate repaired carpeting. Using throw rugs seems so “grandma-ish” (I remember round area rugs in front of doors in old people’s homes). He may scratch the hell out of the wood, but Pergo is pretty sturdy and he hates the wood floors downstairs, so hopefully he’ll be so terrorized by the slippery surface he’ll leave the area alone.

Well a person can dream can’t they?