Happy Sunday, peeps and pets! Vivian K. Perry here, talking today about my television habits, of all things.
Of course, I’m at the mercy of my staff in this area. I don’t have the manual dexterity to use the remote, so what they choose to watch, I am stuck with. Sometimes that’s good, and sometimes not so good.
Playoff hockey is tolerable. I like watching the players chase after the puck like I chase after my favourite ball. But I couldn’t care less who wins!
I lost interest in The Woman in the Window movie. There was a cat in it, but she only had a teeny tiny cameo part. Anyway, my staff said the book was a thousand times better (and the cat was in more scenes).
The Younger series is silly to me, and I usually fall asleep when it comes on. Mom says she never wishes to go back to relive her twenties, and she definitely wouldn’t want to be a millennial in today’s world. Then why does she keep watching it?
Now here’s something I actually love. “Cool cat” 60’s jazz from Dave Brubeck: Take Five. I’m signing off now, but do have a listen below. Have a purr-fect week, everyone!
Given the COVID-19 pandemic, I’m having trouble concentrating long enough to compose an original post. So today I’ll share a post from exactly five years ago, a nostalgic look back to simpler times.
When my husband Paul was six years old, he and his family moved from Newtown – the little community in which we live now – to live in the capital city of St. John’s. Their parents relocated so that Paul’s oldest sibling David could attend the Vera Perlin school for his special needs.
On the day of the big move, Paul crawled up under the house – the actual house we live in now – in a show of protest. “Everyone should be able to live where they were born,” he argued through tears, but the die had been cast. He was pulled out and packed into the car with everyone else.
On the very first day at their new school, Paul and his other brother Kevin, who is one year older, decided to walk home from school for lunch, despite being told to stay there and eat the lunch they’d brought. But when they saw other children going home, they wanted to go as well. Unfamiliar with their new neighbourhood, the two boys got lost, and Kevin started to cry.
Brave little Paul tried his best to console his big brother by distracting him. “Don’t cry, Kev. Look at the pigeons,” he said, pointing at a bunch of them as they waddled across the sidewalk, hoping the strange, tame city birds might cheer him up. It worked, and they ended up following a classmate to his house. Between the jigs and the reels, their dad had to leave work and go pick them up.
Let’s go back a couple of years when Paul was four and Kevin was five, to another time the younger boy displayed his wisdom. A new addition to the family of three boys had arrived, and this time, it was a girl! When their mom brought baby Julie Ann home, the boys crowded around to get a look at their new sister. Kevin’s eyes opened wide when her diaper came off to be changed. “Look, Paul,” he said, incredulous. “She ain’t got nar topper!” (penis)
“No, ya foolish,” Paul said, enlightened beyond his years. “She got whatever Mom got.”
Now before you think I’m beating up on my brother-in-law, I’d like to share one more tale. Okay, two. When Paul was about nine and enjoying his summer vacation in Newtown, Kevin saved him from drowning. Paul was diving with some other boys off of Burnt Island, but he tired in the deep water and panicked. Kevin grabbed him by the hair on top of his head and pulled him to safety.
Years later, when Kevin was just beginning his teaching career, he and Paul were driving along in St. John’s one evening. Without warning, Kevin pulled over, stopped the car, and jumped out. He’d spied two teenage boys in a fist fight near the local hockey rink, and he wanted to stop them. Paul watched as he parted the boys, reasoned with them, and ended the scuffle.
It was a day he never forgot. Where most people would just keep going and not get involved, Kevin stepped in and tried to solve the problem. It made Paul really proud of his brother.
Paul confessed there were other boyhood fights where Kev stepped in and rescued Paul himself, fights my husband started and couldn’t finish. I would say he’s grateful for those too. And so am I. 🙂
Last week, while looking back on a few of my January posts from the past, I hit upon the following that I’d written exactly eight years ago. I thought the timing was perfect to provide an update as the last line suggested. I had mentioned that “The Change” can take anywhere from two to eight years. Thankfully, it didn’t last anywhere near eight years for me, and yes, Paul survived. 🙂
By the way, he still plays floor hockey on Monday nights and I never turn the heat off anymore in the dead of winter. I hope that brings a measure of comfort to those of you who are dealing with menopause or perimenopause at the moment.
January 30, 2012: So here I am, on a frigid January evening. Outside, a bitter wind chill of minus 10 degrees Celsius (that’s 14+ degrees for you Fahrenheit folks) is blowing directly off the North Atlantic just a few yards from our door. Husband Paul is gone playing floor hockey at the high school gym, so I’m alone, trying desperately to chill out. Not figuratively, mind you, but literally. I turned down the thermostats so there is no heat on in my house, simply because my body feels like a furnace turned up on cremate.
This is a new and fresh hell for yours truly, only making itself known within the last couple of weeks. Somehow, I had let myself believe I’d be lucky enough to escape the discomfort of “tropical moments” at this time of my life. How I used to chuckle when one of my friends or coworkers complained of a hot flash. Ha! The joke is now on me. And for the uninitiated, it doesn’t feel like a source of external heat that hits you. It’s more like internal spontaneous combustion, where you think you just might suddenly burst into flames.
Stripped down to a tank top and appropriately, sweat pants, eating blueberries out of the freezer (still frozen), I’m trying to hold it together. I made the mistake earlier of googling other menopause symptoms, and started ticking off other lovely ailments I’ve been experiencing. Brain fog? Check. Anxiety? Check. Night sweats? Check. Mood swings? Okay, that one is just me, can’t blame that on The Change.
The website also warned that the whole process could take anywhere from two to eight years before it is done. That’s just terrific. Think I’ll go out and stick my head in a snow bank.
And now Paul is home. “It’s freezing here!” he says. He looks at my red face. “Is it alright if I turn up the heat?”
“If you must,” I bark, fanning myself with a throw cushion.
Then I realize something. In our house, PMS always stood for Paul Must Suffer. Well, the PMS might be coming to an end for me, but it won’t be ending for him any time soon. Will he survive? Will I?
Although February is the shortest month, it feels like it’s never going to end when you’re not a big fan of winter. And now there’s another special weather statement for a storm on Monday. Yippee!
All of this frigid weather we’ve endured lately has me dreaming of summer beaches, sunny climes, and tropical getaways.
I took this photo of swimming pool rules on our resort in the Dominican Republic last spring. My man and I got a kick out of the “No Topless” symbol. Wouldn’t you agree it’s just a tad provocative titillating?
No need to warn me about the rule of “no smooking” either!
This is my contribution to Kammie’s Oddball Challenge. Odd Ball Photos are those great photos that you take which really don’t seem to fit into a common category. We’ve all taken them and like them, because we just can’t hit delete and get rid of them. If you have any of those type of photos, this challenge is for you. – Kammie
Thank you for the many, many things you’ve ever done for me. As it is for most mothers, they are far too numerous to list here.
An endless list, actually. Hey, you even took it upon yourself to trim my bangs from time to time. Why would we bother driving to the beauty parlor when you were there, eager and happy to do it? How hard could it be? And naturally, your other daughter’s bangs didn’t escape your butchery expertise either.
Now Mom, I understand we were a one-income household at the time and you liked saving money wherever possible, but don’t you think your scissors-happy ways may have been a tad aggressive, especially for a school photo, recorded for posterity?
This practice of yours was nearly as darling as your penchant for dressing up my sister and me as twins. Never mind that I was two and a half years older than her.
And yet, as I flip through this old family album, my heart swells.
I see your smile.
I hear your laughter.
I feel the love.
I see my happy childhood, personified, in all of these snaps of captured memories.
And you know what, Mom? It makes me realize I wouldn’t change a single thing.
– Love your daughter,
Wishing a Happy Mother’s Day to all the loving moms out there!
Vivian K. Perry here, back for another guest blog on Jennifer’s Journal. I have new photos to share today!
We had snowy, blowy weather last night, which gave us pretty windows to look through when we woke up. As much as Maisie and I don’t like it when it gets too cold, sometimes snow can add an aesthetic appeal to our long winters.
The first pic shows some of Jennifer’s other cats.
Now on to us real kitties…
At first, I thought I would like it outdoors today.
I quickly changed my mind.
Maisie seems oblivious to my discomfort. (Please disregard the high-tech reading lamp)
I am quickly let back inside, and then…
…the shoe is on the other paw!
Ha! Snow on her nose 🙂
Thanks for taking a look through the window on our world.
See you next time!
How is your winter going?
Do you have snow where you live?
There is already a meme going around similar to this next one, but when I saw crows on Perry’s Point the other day, I couldn’t resist making my own.
In other news:
Add yourself to my email list for a chance to win a $25 Amazon gift card. A winner will be randomly drawn on December 23rd. Click on the card to sign up.
Thanks for entering, and good luck! 🙂
In the continuing saga of Vivian K. Perry:
Tomorrow will be our fourth trip to the vet to get more meds for Vivian’s allergic dermatitis. The side of her face has still not healed, so they are prescribing a higher dose of this second prescribed medication. At least she doesn’t have to go along this time, and we are super thankful for that.
Speaking of being thankful,
Happy Thanksgiving to all my American followers and blogger friends!
Vivian K. Perry here, back for a new guest post on Jennifer’s Journal. Can you believe this is my eleventh time blogging here on WordPress? I’m becoming an old pro!
Let’s get down to business: I went to see my veterinarian in Gander yesterday. And because I did, my weekend is going to be one of recovery instead of more itching and scratching of my pretty face.
You see, I have this recurring condition, an allergy of sorts, or so I’m told. The problem is that no one can determine what triggers it! The first time this happened to me was when we were still living in the city, and I was barely out of kittenhood. I had a little spot on my cheek that simply would not heal.
As it happened, Jennifer and Paul went on a trip to Jamaica that spring, and when they came back, they were horrified to see that the little spot had festered and had gotten much worse. Off to the vet we went, and I came back with steroids, antibiotics and that ghastly ‘cone of shame’ around my neck. Let me tell you: I HATED that #@%*#!ing cone!
But I healed, and ever since, my staff made sure I never got to that point again.
A year or so ago, Jennifer read on the internet that the cat treats, Temptations, were causing itchy skin allergies in some other members of my species, so of course I never got to eat another one after that. For a long while, it seemed the mystery had been solved.
Then my condition returned, so we are back to square one as to the cause. If anyone out there has any experience with this or knows what I might be allergic to, would you help a kitty out and please leave a comment below?
Jennifer put together this little gallery from my visit. I hope you enjoy it more than I did.
Too many doggies for my liking. I was outnumbered!
After my check-up, I went home with my new meds. I hardly made a peep the whole way, probably because I was worn out from all the excitement.
I thought Maisie would’ve been lonely during our absence; she is rarely left by herself.
But she seemed un-purr-turbed.