Contrary to popular belief, old people do not spend all day complaining about aches and pains. We kvetch more about frustrations with problems that didn’t exist ten—fifteen years ago. They all have to do with keeping up with the constant changes in technology and keeping our newest hi-tech acquisitions in the “best of health.”
I entered the computer age when I took my Masters in the 80”s. I remember being advised to buy an Apple 2C, and I would not have to pay to have someone type my thesis. I was misinformed that the purchase, which was double what a good computer would cost today, was all my husband and I would ever need to be part of the future. I’m thrilled the same person was not our financial adviser. We never imagined when we planned our first retirement needs budget when we were still very middle-aged, that we left out the high cost of staying connected. This is not a five-dollar bill that can easily be squeezed into a budget.
If you’re reading this, you know the monthly fees to enable my blog bounce around the world on various sights. But how many of you have two monthly exterminating services making house calls. One sprays stuff on my garden and in my house to prevent multilegged bugs from crawling around my home. The other kills the invisible bugs and viruses that somehow get inside my computer despite all the “vaccinations” that are supposed to prevent such mishaps. Instead of old people bragging that they have the “best doctor,” they now boast that their computer specialist is the best diagnostician in town. I’ve yet to hear people brag about their cable or internet carrier. Instead, the complaints about internet and cable services remind me of my mother and her sister complaining about whose aches and pains were worse.
Last month my husband went to the pool to exercise. He forgot to take his cell phone out of his pocket. Unlike his watch, the cell phone wasn’t waterproof. My husband doesn’t have a back up, old-fashioned phone book as I do. He enters numbers solely in his phone. I am sure his cousin, who only has a cell phone and as of yet there are no yellow pages for cell phones, is bummed out that he hasn’t returned her call. Ten years ago, neither my husband nor his cousin carried cell phones. Hopefully, since she is a Facebook friend, she will read this and call me.
Recently, one friend asked if I had received an answer from another friend to an email. “No,” I replied. “Which is weird because she has instant internet service on her cell.”
“She doesn’t know how to get to her email on her new phone, but she won’t admit it.”
Unlike my friend, I won’t bend to social pressure to “have the latest” and invest in a Smartphone that I know I’ll never learn to use. It took years for me to learn to retrieve messages on my present, very basic cell phone, and I’m still not able to enter phone numbers. For this South Floridian, investing in a Smartphone is like buying a snow sled for my grandkids to use when they visit. Life was easier for status seekers when all the needed were jewels, cars, or manufacturer’s labels. I’ve never known a Gucci bag that was attacked with a virus rendering it DOA.
Recently my husband announced that not only our cell phones, but our computers are near the end of their lifespan. “It just doesn’t pay to fix them again.”
He literally has spent more time in the last few weeks investigating what kinds of computers and phones meet our current needs and budget—lap top, desk top, or tablet—than what he should be investigating—which Medigap policy and which Medicare Drug Plan is best for us in 2012. (If you aren’t aware, these plans’ benefits change every year)
I questioned his priorities since, if we have to switch plans, it needs to be done soon. His answer explained why seniors now kvetch more about cell phone and computer problems than aches and pains. “How long will you last if both of our computers and our cell phones drop dead?”
Physically I’ll make it, and I’m in better (communication) shape than he is. I still have my little black phone book, which has landline and cell numbers—and unlike more and more people we know, we still have landlines.
Showing posts with label Retired NOT Expired. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Retired NOT Expired. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
My Friend, My Blog
Each week I leave my senior paradise and head 45 minutes south to my previous neighborhood for an afternoon of lunch and then Mah Jongg with old friends. Those of you who have read my book, Retired NOT Expired, know that this lunch bunch and their spouses are the inspiration of much of the humor in the book—indeed one of the husband’s wants to know who will play him in the potential movie since Cary Grant is dead.(I can dream, can’t I?).
Anyway, back to the point. If you remember the chapter, “Weight, Weight Don’t Tell Me,” one of my friend’s propensity for buying diet books inspired one of the funny fictional characters. Yesterday, while we were all sitting around one player’s kitchen table, a strange beeping could be heard. Immediately, each of us checked our cell phones to see which one had “laryngitis.” “It’s not your cell phones. It’s this.” With that said, my friend picked up her loose sleeve.
At first, as she explained her newest weight reduction plan, we all listened with straight faces.The gizmo, which resembled a mini blood pressure machine, was “telling her” she wasn’t burning up the calories she was consuming. I’m not sure of the details, but it seems this gadget monitors how many calories she burns a day and lets her know if she isn’t moving enough to burn off her allotment.
She never finished her explanation. Uncontrollable fits of laughter interrupted her mini lecture. When the rest of us regained our composure, I said, “People want me to begin my next book. I didn’t have a topic until now, but today I do—in fact it might be half way written. I’ll call it, My Friend, My Blog.”
More laughter erupted. The dieter was the only one who didn’t understand. You see, she doesn’t read my blogs and all the others do. They know I’ve written several blogs about her—most recently one about cell phones. When she realized what we were laughing at, she admitted she better begin to read them. Then she walked around the room until her "toy" silenced.
Oh – if this thing really works, I know what I want for Mother’s Day!
Anyway, back to the point. If you remember the chapter, “Weight, Weight Don’t Tell Me,” one of my friend’s propensity for buying diet books inspired one of the funny fictional characters. Yesterday, while we were all sitting around one player’s kitchen table, a strange beeping could be heard. Immediately, each of us checked our cell phones to see which one had “laryngitis.” “It’s not your cell phones. It’s this.” With that said, my friend picked up her loose sleeve.
At first, as she explained her newest weight reduction plan, we all listened with straight faces.The gizmo, which resembled a mini blood pressure machine, was “telling her” she wasn’t burning up the calories she was consuming. I’m not sure of the details, but it seems this gadget monitors how many calories she burns a day and lets her know if she isn’t moving enough to burn off her allotment.
She never finished her explanation. Uncontrollable fits of laughter interrupted her mini lecture. When the rest of us regained our composure, I said, “People want me to begin my next book. I didn’t have a topic until now, but today I do—in fact it might be half way written. I’ll call it, My Friend, My Blog.”
More laughter erupted. The dieter was the only one who didn’t understand. You see, she doesn’t read my blogs and all the others do. They know I’ve written several blogs about her—most recently one about cell phones. When she realized what we were laughing at, she admitted she better begin to read them. Then she walked around the room until her "toy" silenced.
Oh – if this thing really works, I know what I want for Mother’s Day!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Whoops Again
It has been another “whoops why did I say that week”—and again I wasn’t the only one to have a slip of the tongue. In my old age, I have become a standup comic, AKA lecturer in Intellectually Active Old People Land. Many worthwhile organizations are constantly seeking brilliant lecturers, so if you are good, you work a lot. The not-so-hidden purpose of my new career is to spread the word about my book. The first time I gave my schpiel about how I reinvented my life after leaving teaching it was to an audience of folks I knew well. If I put my foot in my mouth, they knew me and loved me, so the world would not fall apart if I goofed.
Yesterday’s talk was a different story. The audience was a room full of strangers, all who had paid dearly to hear brilliant lecturers stimulate their gray matter. I had heard the speaker who preceded me on many occasions. He doesn’t miss a beat from start to end and keeps his audience’s follow-up discussions focused. As soon as someone strays from the topic, he has the skill to say quickly, “Good point, we’ll get back to that later.”
The comment hurts no one and prevents what I call “Show and Tell” discussions from ruining his talk—in other words, he knows how to keep control of the discussion and not give it to those who think their comment is relevant, but in actuality has zero to do with the topic.
There was a big difference between this speaker and me. He had his date booked months ago and was being paid. He had months to prepare. All he had to do yesterday was show up, talk, collect his money, and leave. I was a substitute—a last minute booking and agreed to talk free for the right to sell my book before and after my talk. My goal was to “get my book out there.” My purpose was not to educate but to sell. The real aim of my speech was to motivate the audience to buy the book by whetting their appetite with tidbits from the book. The talk went well—I heard lots of laughter—but when I asked for questions or comments, I goofed. One of the tidbits I divulged as an “appetizer” was the book contained the solution to the leading cause of acid reflux—splitting restaurant checks with others when you’re not the one who ran up the bar bill. One question that came up was, “How did you solve the problem?”
As a teacher, it was important to anticipate any question. As a lecturer, I’m learning that the questions being thrown at me are good, but I’m not anticipating them. Thus my answers to the questions aren’t the words I would have uttered if I had time to think about them. I responded, “You’ll have to buy the book to find out.”
This nice lady’s head went down along with my heart. I immediately apologized to her, especially since the audience laughed at my retort. True, the purpose of the lecture was to make people want to buy the book; however selling a book by innocently hurting someone is not my style. Since she immediately started to write down notes, my nightmare was she was doing a review of me and my future as a speaker was doomed.
I shared my goof with two friends. One, who runs many of these types of lectures, said I should have used the word “read” in lieu of “buy.” She told me famous authors do it all the time. I prayed all night that she was right and not just wanting to calm me. The morning headlines of the local paper didn’t doom me, but these inserts were written last week. I’ll let you know next week if I’m in trouble.
I also called my other friend—the one I wrote about last week who lives on a block where the germ causing oral diarrhea is worse than on mine. Once again, her story outdid mine. It seems she and her significant other of many years were walking in a nearby park. He was engrossed in conversation, didn’t notice something blocking his path, and went flying through the air. My friend panicked and screamed out a name, but it wasn’t his. It was her ex’s whom she divorce decades ago.
Her error was worse than mine—unless mine brings me negative press reviews.
Yesterday’s talk was a different story. The audience was a room full of strangers, all who had paid dearly to hear brilliant lecturers stimulate their gray matter. I had heard the speaker who preceded me on many occasions. He doesn’t miss a beat from start to end and keeps his audience’s follow-up discussions focused. As soon as someone strays from the topic, he has the skill to say quickly, “Good point, we’ll get back to that later.”
The comment hurts no one and prevents what I call “Show and Tell” discussions from ruining his talk—in other words, he knows how to keep control of the discussion and not give it to those who think their comment is relevant, but in actuality has zero to do with the topic.
There was a big difference between this speaker and me. He had his date booked months ago and was being paid. He had months to prepare. All he had to do yesterday was show up, talk, collect his money, and leave. I was a substitute—a last minute booking and agreed to talk free for the right to sell my book before and after my talk. My goal was to “get my book out there.” My purpose was not to educate but to sell. The real aim of my speech was to motivate the audience to buy the book by whetting their appetite with tidbits from the book. The talk went well—I heard lots of laughter—but when I asked for questions or comments, I goofed. One of the tidbits I divulged as an “appetizer” was the book contained the solution to the leading cause of acid reflux—splitting restaurant checks with others when you’re not the one who ran up the bar bill. One question that came up was, “How did you solve the problem?”
As a teacher, it was important to anticipate any question. As a lecturer, I’m learning that the questions being thrown at me are good, but I’m not anticipating them. Thus my answers to the questions aren’t the words I would have uttered if I had time to think about them. I responded, “You’ll have to buy the book to find out.”
This nice lady’s head went down along with my heart. I immediately apologized to her, especially since the audience laughed at my retort. True, the purpose of the lecture was to make people want to buy the book; however selling a book by innocently hurting someone is not my style. Since she immediately started to write down notes, my nightmare was she was doing a review of me and my future as a speaker was doomed.
I shared my goof with two friends. One, who runs many of these types of lectures, said I should have used the word “read” in lieu of “buy.” She told me famous authors do it all the time. I prayed all night that she was right and not just wanting to calm me. The morning headlines of the local paper didn’t doom me, but these inserts were written last week. I’ll let you know next week if I’m in trouble.
I also called my other friend—the one I wrote about last week who lives on a block where the germ causing oral diarrhea is worse than on mine. Once again, her story outdid mine. It seems she and her significant other of many years were walking in a nearby park. He was engrossed in conversation, didn’t notice something blocking his path, and went flying through the air. My friend panicked and screamed out a name, but it wasn’t his. It was her ex’s whom she divorce decades ago.
Her error was worse than mine—unless mine brings me negative press reviews.
Monday, February 7, 2011
No, No, That's Not What I Meant
True Confession: I am afflicted with a condition politely known as “Edaisms,” and impolitely known as “oral diarrhea.” The best definition for this “disease” is “Edaisms” are when words totally unrelated to what I want to say or what should say come cascading out of my mouth. These moments occur when my brain is multitaskin, and I’m not solely focused on what the unsuspecting speaker is saying. Sudden silence either in the room or at the other end of the phone usually awakens my consciousness to the fact it is my turn to talk. With that, I try to think of what was last discussed before my brain drifted elsewhere, and unless I admit that I didn’t quite hear the speaker, it is not uncommon for me to make a fool of myself by my answer. To combat this “illness” I try to repeat to myself, “stay focused” over and over. It usually helps, but not always.
“Edaisms” cause two things: unintentionally offending someone or having someone think I’m missing a link. Last week, when a friend called to firm up previously made plans, I was mortified and petrified. I had no clue to what she was referring to because I inadvertently didn’t write the date—made over a month prior— on my overcommitted social calendar. Hubby and I had made unchangeable plans weeks prior with several other couples for the same date, and that date was on all three of my calendars and set in stone.
As I said in previous blogs, forgetting scares me to my core because of my very real fear of dementia. My error of not writing the first date or referring to my calendar when I made the plans that I had to back out of, offended someone whom I adore. In an effort to defuse the situation, I wanted to say, “I wish I could be more flexible with my schedule.” Wanted—but didn’t. Instead I said, “I wish you could be more flexible.” The words came out, and to be gross, sometimes things come out that really stink. Common knowledge: stinks can’t be put back. You just have to hope there is plenty of fresh wind to blow them away before they do real damage.
A few days later, someone who is very well traveled and knows the ropes—someone whose opinion I would seek if I needed travel advice—told me she was going on a particular cruise ship. What popped into my head was, “She will be the one to let me know if the ship is really great or too oversized—both views that I have heard.” Instead of keeping my thoughts internal, I blurted out, “Some of my friends hate the ship and others loved it.” I HATE when people do this to me—tell me I might regret plans already made—so why on earth did this stupid comment flow from my lips? I was so upset when I got home, I sat and ate half a gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream. I rationalized it was sugar free but ignored the fat content.
The next morning I shared my latest bout of socially unacceptable “Edasims” with a friend who is a therapist. My friend immediately hit the cause of the resurgence of my socially unacceptable “disease.” She told me that something must be in the water of our community. “Not only was one of the men we were out with last night guilty of “oral diarrhea,” she said, “but I responded the same way and my answer had me up the entire night.”
Her story dwarfed mine. Her tablemate assumed she had a “nose job” and told her so. Despite her insistence to the contrary, he kept harping on the fact it had to be “plastic” since it was so perfect. She knew the only way she could stop the conversation was if she changed the topic. “How many years ago did you get you’re penal implant?” she asked.
Silence filled the air. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what others in the room must have been thinking. Me? I’m glad I don’t live on her block. The drinking water there is more toxic than mine. My “Edaisms” might become so rude, I’d have to move!
“Edaisms” cause two things: unintentionally offending someone or having someone think I’m missing a link. Last week, when a friend called to firm up previously made plans, I was mortified and petrified. I had no clue to what she was referring to because I inadvertently didn’t write the date—made over a month prior— on my overcommitted social calendar. Hubby and I had made unchangeable plans weeks prior with several other couples for the same date, and that date was on all three of my calendars and set in stone.
As I said in previous blogs, forgetting scares me to my core because of my very real fear of dementia. My error of not writing the first date or referring to my calendar when I made the plans that I had to back out of, offended someone whom I adore. In an effort to defuse the situation, I wanted to say, “I wish I could be more flexible with my schedule.” Wanted—but didn’t. Instead I said, “I wish you could be more flexible.” The words came out, and to be gross, sometimes things come out that really stink. Common knowledge: stinks can’t be put back. You just have to hope there is plenty of fresh wind to blow them away before they do real damage.
A few days later, someone who is very well traveled and knows the ropes—someone whose opinion I would seek if I needed travel advice—told me she was going on a particular cruise ship. What popped into my head was, “She will be the one to let me know if the ship is really great or too oversized—both views that I have heard.” Instead of keeping my thoughts internal, I blurted out, “Some of my friends hate the ship and others loved it.” I HATE when people do this to me—tell me I might regret plans already made—so why on earth did this stupid comment flow from my lips? I was so upset when I got home, I sat and ate half a gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream. I rationalized it was sugar free but ignored the fat content.
The next morning I shared my latest bout of socially unacceptable “Edasims” with a friend who is a therapist. My friend immediately hit the cause of the resurgence of my socially unacceptable “disease.” She told me that something must be in the water of our community. “Not only was one of the men we were out with last night guilty of “oral diarrhea,” she said, “but I responded the same way and my answer had me up the entire night.”
Her story dwarfed mine. Her tablemate assumed she had a “nose job” and told her so. Despite her insistence to the contrary, he kept harping on the fact it had to be “plastic” since it was so perfect. She knew the only way she could stop the conversation was if she changed the topic. “How many years ago did you get you’re penal implant?” she asked.
Silence filled the air. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what others in the room must have been thinking. Me? I’m glad I don’t live on her block. The drinking water there is more toxic than mine. My “Edaisms” might become so rude, I’d have to move!
Friday, January 14, 2011
Remedial Phone
Remedial Phone
I must confess I do not know the difference between a Smart Phone, I-Phone, or I-Pad. I know what a Blackberry is but have no clue how to operate one. Regardless, it would serve no purpose for my lifestyle. I don’t tweet or twitter and have no need to have instant access to my email. I agree with the school of thought that too much personal information via chitchatting on various social networks may come back and haunt some of the posters—especially if they want to run for public office. I prefer when my children and grandchildren call me, although I must confess I feel very special when I instant message my grandchildren on Facebook and they respond.
Last week when Hubby and I were waiting in the cell phone lot at the airport, it was obvious the Delta website we checked before we left our home posted the wrong arrival time. “If we had the fancy phone some of my friends have,” I told my husband, “I could check the arrival status.”
If we had it, the plane will land and depart before we would figure out how to access the information we need. “Call Gary,” my husband said. “See if he’s by his computer.”
I called our son and he wasn’t. Then I called a friend who was and in less than a minute had my answer.
“What if no one was available to look it up for us,” I said, beginning to feel we possibly needed to update our cell phone.
“We could always call the airline directly like we did before computers.”
All I could think of was when we started to use the computer to check flight status how I would “double-check” with a human who worked for the airline. When they replaced the human with a robot, I stopped double-checking. How many years ago was that? I honestly can’t remember!
The next day while lunching with a group of “girl” friends, one of the women had a question that none of us could answer. Another took out her high I-Q phone, slid her finger on the screen, “typed,” and voila, the answer to the question appeared on her screen.
Another reached into her handbag and removed the same instrument, held it up for all of us to see, and said, “Her’s is a Smart Phone. Mine is a dumb one.”
We laughed. I knew just what she meant. If Hubby and I bought a phone with a zillion features, ours would not be at the head of the class either!
I must confess I do not know the difference between a Smart Phone, I-Phone, or I-Pad. I know what a Blackberry is but have no clue how to operate one. Regardless, it would serve no purpose for my lifestyle. I don’t tweet or twitter and have no need to have instant access to my email. I agree with the school of thought that too much personal information via chitchatting on various social networks may come back and haunt some of the posters—especially if they want to run for public office. I prefer when my children and grandchildren call me, although I must confess I feel very special when I instant message my grandchildren on Facebook and they respond.
Last week when Hubby and I were waiting in the cell phone lot at the airport, it was obvious the Delta website we checked before we left our home posted the wrong arrival time. “If we had the fancy phone some of my friends have,” I told my husband, “I could check the arrival status.”
If we had it, the plane will land and depart before we would figure out how to access the information we need. “Call Gary,” my husband said. “See if he’s by his computer.”
I called our son and he wasn’t. Then I called a friend who was and in less than a minute had my answer.
“What if no one was available to look it up for us,” I said, beginning to feel we possibly needed to update our cell phone.
“We could always call the airline directly like we did before computers.”
All I could think of was when we started to use the computer to check flight status how I would “double-check” with a human who worked for the airline. When they replaced the human with a robot, I stopped double-checking. How many years ago was that? I honestly can’t remember!
The next day while lunching with a group of “girl” friends, one of the women had a question that none of us could answer. Another took out her high I-Q phone, slid her finger on the screen, “typed,” and voila, the answer to the question appeared on her screen.
Another reached into her handbag and removed the same instrument, held it up for all of us to see, and said, “Her’s is a Smart Phone. Mine is a dumb one.”
We laughed. I knew just what she meant. If Hubby and I bought a phone with a zillion features, ours would not be at the head of the class either!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Believable Realistic Fiction
I did not write the below. It showed up in my email this morning. Few jokes give me a laugh out loud when I read them, and this one did. Maybe it is because I know so many men, young and old, within my circle of friends and relatives who would do some of the things listed. Even my book, Retired NOT Expired, has a chapter devoted to why, in my home, shopping together is not a couples activity. --Eda
After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips Target. Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received thefollowing letter from the local Target.
Dear Mrs. Samuel,
Over the past six months, your husband has caused quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against your husband, Mr. Samuel are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.
1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in other people's carts when they weren't looking.
2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.
3. July 7: He made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to thewomen's restroom.
4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away'. This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her supervisor that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing Management to lose time and costing the company money.
5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.
6. August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.
7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows andblankets from the bedding department to which twenty children obliged.
8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?' EMTs were called.
9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.
10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.
11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the 'Mission Impossible' theme.
12. October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna? look by using different sizes of funnels.
13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'
14. October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICESAGAIN!'
And last, but not least:
15. October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile, and then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here.' One of the clerks passed out.
=
After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips Target. Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received thefollowing letter from the local Target.
Dear Mrs. Samuel,
Over the past six months, your husband has caused quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against your husband, Mr. Samuel are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.
1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in other people's carts when they weren't looking.
2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.
3. July 7: He made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to thewomen's restroom.
4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away'. This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her supervisor that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing Management to lose time and costing the company money.
5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.
6. August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.
7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows andblankets from the bedding department to which twenty children obliged.
8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?' EMTs were called.
9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.
10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.
11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the 'Mission Impossible' theme.
12. October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna? look by using different sizes of funnels.
13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'
14. October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICESAGAIN!'
And last, but not least:
15. October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile, and then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here.' One of the clerks passed out.
=
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Retired NOT Expired
It took longer for me to perfect my book than it did for me to complete college and my master’s degree. Being a perfectionist causes two major problems. One, it made me chicken to be published—“What if” nightmares woke me many a night. The fear of not writing the perfect book, having one comma out of place, had me standing at the pantry in the middle of the night looking for something to crunch hard with my teeth. (If I write another book, someone please buy me a teething ring.)
This week, after years of deleting and rewriting, spending the same amount of money on reams of paper and gallons of ink that a cruise would cost, my “baby” arrived in the mail. I had barely opened the carton when eager readers were at my door wanting to be my first sales. Today, an email arrived from one of these readers, Jill D., that said. “Eda, warn your readers they’ll need a diaper while they read this book and not because of age but because of constant laughter.”
Hopefully, more comments like this one will bring an end to emotional eating and my pants will soon zip again without me having to lay on my bed to zip them.
Retired NOT Expired is available on line at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
In my satirical book, Retired, Not Expired, I share my experiences as I paddle upstream into a new “anything but dull” life as a retiree. Readers will enjoy learning how I handle the daily challenges that await the aging baby-boomers—entering the Dorian Gray Generation, the leading cause of heartburn—splitting very uneven restaurant tabs, planning the party they’ll never attend—their own funeral, and deciding if or when they should move to a retirement wonderland. And the readers DO NOT have to be on social security to enjoy the book. Not one of the below endorsements was written by anyone over (or near) the big 50.
“Retirement can be scary, unless you’re Eda Suzanne, a wise and witty woman with a can-do approach to life. Her book will warm your heart and make your belly ache from laughter.”
M.M. Anderson Author of Werewolf Dreams
“Eda Suzanne’s stories will keep you laughing whether you're 30, 40, or 70. It’s a great read and should be on every bookshelf, coffee table, and waiting room in the country!”
Elizabeth Bonet, PhD Marriage and Family Therapist
“Eda Suzanne’s writing shows a rare blend of humor, insight, and compassion. Sure her stories make you laugh, but they also portray a meaningful new approach to retirement.”
Sherry North Author of Because You Are My Baby
The book is in stock and ready to be shipped at Amazon. Let me know if you laughed because that was my goal.
This week, after years of deleting and rewriting, spending the same amount of money on reams of paper and gallons of ink that a cruise would cost, my “baby” arrived in the mail. I had barely opened the carton when eager readers were at my door wanting to be my first sales. Today, an email arrived from one of these readers, Jill D., that said. “Eda, warn your readers they’ll need a diaper while they read this book and not because of age but because of constant laughter.”
Hopefully, more comments like this one will bring an end to emotional eating and my pants will soon zip again without me having to lay on my bed to zip them.
Retired NOT Expired is available on line at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
In my satirical book, Retired, Not Expired, I share my experiences as I paddle upstream into a new “anything but dull” life as a retiree. Readers will enjoy learning how I handle the daily challenges that await the aging baby-boomers—entering the Dorian Gray Generation, the leading cause of heartburn—splitting very uneven restaurant tabs, planning the party they’ll never attend—their own funeral, and deciding if or when they should move to a retirement wonderland. And the readers DO NOT have to be on social security to enjoy the book. Not one of the below endorsements was written by anyone over (or near) the big 50.
“Retirement can be scary, unless you’re Eda Suzanne, a wise and witty woman with a can-do approach to life. Her book will warm your heart and make your belly ache from laughter.”
M.M. Anderson Author of Werewolf Dreams
“Eda Suzanne’s stories will keep you laughing whether you're 30, 40, or 70. It’s a great read and should be on every bookshelf, coffee table, and waiting room in the country!”
Elizabeth Bonet, PhD Marriage and Family Therapist
“Eda Suzanne’s writing shows a rare blend of humor, insight, and compassion. Sure her stories make you laugh, but they also portray a meaningful new approach to retirement.”
Sherry North Author of Because You Are My Baby
The book is in stock and ready to be shipped at Amazon. Let me know if you laughed because that was my goal.
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