AARP Discount: Senior Driving Course

I have always avoided carrying my AARP membership card, not wanting it to appear with any prominence when I open my wallet. But what the hell, I'm never reluctant to "ask for the discount", so I put the card in my wallet. I used it on Wednesday when I showed up for my AARP senior driving class at the West Seventh Community Center.

Bob took the class when he was first eligible a number of years ago, but I was never willing to take a day off work, even for a 55+ discount. I recently learned that I could do the class online, but I though an "in person" class would be preferable: I am strong on knowledge but weak on real understanding.

I expected my classmates to be old ladies with thick glasses, and was somewhat surprised that many were younger than I am. And while I did indeed know a lot of the material, most students -- men and women -- obviously did a lot more driving that I do. And they're not afraid of freeways and unfamiliar routes either. So I did feel a little deflated after the first day.

I learned a lot more than expected: how to adjust my mirrors to compensate for the blind spot, the 3-second rule that hadn't made much sense before and, most useful to me, road signs. I hadn't realized that signs and color and shape coded (duh). There's a standard for road symbols in the United States and many of these are actually universal. Minnesota signs conform to the standards, and MNDOT has some easy to understand guidelines.

I've been trying to apply what I've learned, and find that I'm more aware of my surroundings. The real test will be to deliberately put myself in a challenging situation, like the exit from Highway 36 to Fairview in Roseville, where Bob so easily moved over to the far left lane, swiftly and in complete safety.

Embarrassed to admit that after thirty years, I realize that since I know how to get to Rosedale, I could be able to get anywhere in the city of Roseville. Double duh!

October Ritual

Bob backs the Corvette into the barn

The annual trip to storage in Isanti has been on my mind most of the week, knowing that I would be driving the Corvette for the first time and should practice a little, but no. I've been quite content to be the passenger, free to take pictures and enjoy the ride.

Bob got the boat and Vette ready yesterday and all I had to do this morning was drive the vehicle out of the garage. One of my main problems is that even after twenty years of making this same trip twice a year, I still can't remember the route, so I have to keep Bob in view to avoid getting hopelessly lost. I felt a little better today, though, in spite of the intermittent rain.

The first challenge is to get on busy I-94 about a mile from our house. Even at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, that damn freeway is full of cars going  ... where? The freeway entrance is followed by a quick exit to Highway 280, where traffic from the right merges fast and furious. The rain was increasing in intensity by the time we crossed the border into Roseville, and I felt so tempted to simply turn around and go home. Try again on a better day. That, however, was not an option and besides, I was getting used to the feel of the Corvette.

Fortunately, I had instructions in operating the windshield wipers because I really needed them. As the sky darkened, I expected my lights to go on, but they didn't, so I fumbled for the switch which was, thankfully, right next to the steering wheel.  By the time we turned off on County Road 7 near Andover, I was riding in luxurious comfort. That little car drives beautifully in every respect.

We glided into Anderson Berry Farm before 9:30 a.m. Bob parked the boat and then the Vette. After all these years, our relationship with the owners is relaxed and friendly. Storage day every October is reminder that winter is crowding in as yet another year flies by.

A few months from now, maybe during a winter thaw, Bob will start counting the weeks till the toys come home.

Promise of Spring

Hoping for one hundred beautiful tulips and daffodils in 2014
 

I've never been a gardener. In fact, apart from a few avocado bulbs planted in my kitchen 40 years ago, I'd never tried to grow anything until last summer, when Bob was recovering from surgery and unable to do his usual work in the garden. I filled six planters and two small flower beds under Bob's direction last spring, fully expecting failure in my modest, tentative efforts.

I was surprised when the flowers not only grew but flourished. I began to think, not for the first time, about trying my luck with a few spring bulbs. My sister Marilyn, an experienced and accomplished gardener, gave me a few simple directions for daffodils and tulips, that I would plant deep enough to avoid disturbance by the squirrels that own our property.

The first part of October was like summer, but the weather was a little chilly yesterday so I finally bought the bulbs, knowing that winter could begin anytime and I'd better get the job done. This morning, I set out my supplies and tools: the 56 tulips and 45 daffodils, fertilizer (instead of bone meal, because Menard's was sold out), an old shower curtain for the earth I would dig up, a large spade, an heavy fork-like tool about 5 inches wide that made me thing of a grappling iron, a bucket for weeds.

I attacked the first plot on the west side of the house with energetic enthusiasm and had soon shoveled a great deal of earth onto the shower curtain. I mapped out three triangles: one for daffodils, one for tulips, and a third triangle with both tulips and daffodils to create some unity in the space. Bob arrived just as I finished my second triangle. He observed that I had dug much deeper than the planned six inches, and returned with a tape measure to prove it. Too late. I was committed to the depth. I felt a little deflated, though, and a little tired as well.

I got almost half the bulbs in that area and covered them up with the earth on the shower curtain. On to the next section of garden, between the roses on the east side of the house. This time I didn't use the shower curtain. I had run out of steam and had only enough energy for four or five shallow  holes between the rose bushes, and to make matters worse I was getting very hot and my damp hair hung in strings over my eyes.

In my eagerness to get the job done, I now worked in in a careless and sloppy way. Since I really can't kneel down because of the knee surgeries, I leaned my head against the cool stucco and pawed my way down to the earth. I pricked my fingers with rose thorns and got a few of them caught in my hair. After burying a couple of handfuls of bulbs in the first hole, pointy side up, I stepped back to admire my work and stepped on the large fork leaning against the house. The handle bounced off the wall and hit my head with surprising force, making me feel like a candidate for Funniest Home Videos. I went on to the second hole, then stepped on the fork again, this time bopping myself into what felt like a near concussion.

The sun was shining brightly by the time I finally finished the planting, with each group of bulbs, tulips and daffodils in each hole, each one a little shallower than the one before. Finally at the end of the ordeal, I stole some earth from the day lilies to spread over the bulbs, in an attempt to compensate for the shallow beds. I watered the earth with the hose and managed to spray myself in the face, but fortunately the neighbors weren't in evidence.

The whole project took me over two hours and tonight, I feel unfamiliar aches in strange places. Marilyn tells me bulbs are very adaptable (idiot proof?), so I'm daring to hope for a small measure of success next April.

Seen a Brute Barrel Lid?

Fall clean-up is in full swing. We have an old oak in our yard that has delivered tons of acorns this year. As soon as they were edible, the squirrels took over the tree and began biting off small branches filled with acorns. Several times a day from early August until about ten days ago, I swept the deck and picked up the yard, filling barrels of leaves for the compost site. The squirrels got fat on the acorns, until only the caps were left on the grass.

By last weekend the last acorn had been eaten or buried for later consumption. I raked hundreds of pounds of acorn caps into three large barrels, and we hoisted them into the Traverse for a trip to the compost site. Since the load was heavy and somewhat damp after three days of persistent rain, our goal was to get in and out as quickly as possible. My job was to get the barrels back in the vehicle after Bob dumped them.

Not surprisingly, I fell short. Got the barrels back in but somehow missed the lid to a pricey Brute 44-gallon container. After we got home, I sprung into action to do some inside clean-up, and had a toilet brush in my hand when Bob came in from the garage, announcing mournfully that a lid was missing and he was returning to the composite site.

No luck. He spent the afternoon wondering whether the lid had been stolen or was simply buried under mounds of leaves and other lawn muck. I knew there would be no peace until we returned -- together -- for yet another look. Bob emerged from the garage with a heavy, rusted vintage spade, the kind you see gravediggers use in old movies.

Our neighbor asked if we were going to dig for gold. I almost said, "No, just a trip to the cemetery", but resisted the impulse. On to the compost site. As we approached, I commented that we could just ask the attendants, a man and woman in bright orange vests, if someone had turned in a garbage can lid. "Oh, I've already done that", said Bob. As we pulled up, the couple looked over with interest.

We were the only vehicle present, and the rain was beginning to fall again. Quite a bit more yard waste gad accumulated since our first visit several hours earlier. Bob opened the tailgate and lifted the shovel from the vehicle. He started in where I thought we had dumped our waste. The attendants were laughing merrily and I put my head down, fearing recognition.

Bob's efforts yielded nothing. My husband insisted that I scan the entire site for a propped up lid, waiting for reclamation by its rightful owner. Nothing. We concluded that our precious lid had been stolen. Several hours later, we were on our way to dinner when we passed the compost site once again. Bob was still looking for the lid, this time along the roadway.

In the week since the incident, Bob is still lamenting the loss of the lid. Somehow, though, life has gone on without any perceptible degradaion.

Managing a Chronic Health Condition

When friends occasionally ask me how my MS is doing, I think they're hoping for "great" or, at least, "fine", and that's what they get. I'm fairly sure that most are not interested in the day-to-day challenges of living with multiple sclerosis.

The routine is easier to manage since I retired. I often used to find myself totally out of energy early in the afternoon, and even the walk to the parking ramp was daunting, just because of couple of stairs and a skyway with a slight incline. I was sometimes so tired walking in the door that the prospect of making dinner seemed like an insurmountable task. Today, I can change the day's pace if I've undertaken too much and a 10-minute break helps revive me. The simple idea that I can manage my time has reduced my anxiety level.

I will soon reach the 10-year milestone. In the decade since my diagnosis, I've progressed from being furious most of the time to some measure of acceptance. The anxiety of dealing with this damn disease every day has taken its toll, but I've also learned a few useful lessons along the way:

• I'm lucky to have relapsing-remitting MS. It's treatable with one of the disease modifying drugs (in my case, interferon beta 1a, an IM injectable marketed as Avonex).
• For me, it seems to be best to minimize the number of drugs I use. For most of these 10 years, Avonex has been my only drug. I did experiment with a couple of medications for "MS fatigue", but they made me jumpy and didn't do anything for that debilitating lassitude that sometimes hits at inopportune times.
• Life is full of daily choices. I prefer to err on the side on "moderate risk" and go for the change-up. Keeps life interesting.