Thanks to all of you that read, commented on, Face Booked, E-mailed, and generally made it easier to deal with my potential melt down. This morning I received a follow up call from "Elm" to verify some information and to let me know what's next.
In an earlier blog I wrote that I once worked as a medical case manager. Indulge me for a minute or two here, please. I worked for a company that contracted out to "oversee and "expedite" injured workers medical treatment and timely return to the workplace. In other words, get them back to work a.s.a.p.
The law has changed dramatically here in California since my stint as a Registered Nurse Medical Case Manager. Then, an on the job injured worker would be assigned a "company doc" for the first thirty days following an injury report. Every part of the care and treatment leaned toward the place that signed my check.
In all of my experience, both as a nurse and a patient, "Hank" was the first claims adjuster I ran across that seemed genuinely concerned for the patients (me) well being and best interest. I called his manager this morning to express my gratitude and commend him for the excellent work he did on my behalf.
Wanda and I have long realized the importance of compliments as well as complaints.
Speaking of compliments, we had an unexpected visit last night. Our older daughter.....I just thought about dropping the older for Jennifer and younger for Rebecca and using number one and number two instead. Maybe Jenn didn't like being "older" however Rebecca would be number two and that isn't very nice either. Speaking of number two.
I do not remember precisely where or when. I do remember I was very young so first or second grade? We had to raise our hand in class to ask permission to go to the bathroom. "May I please go to the bathroom?" never "Can I please go to the bathroom?" How humiliating. We had to ask the correct way and hold up one or two fingers to signify the intended bodily function. I'm sorry, see what happens when I lose my concentration.
Jennifer and son Nicholas came over yesterday, Nick doing the driving. He recently got his drivers permit and is learning to drive a stick shift. Jennifer said he is doing really well. I'm trying to grasp the concept of his age. I don't know how he went from thirteen to fifteen in a matter of months. Kids, they obviously march to a different drummer and a different clock. Five or six weeks ago I was taller than Nick, not so last night. He has grown three inches since I last saw him. I still outweigh him by forty pounds, take that kid. He probably eats the contents of the fridge every week and looks like a toothpick.
My mother didn't drive and I had my licence and first car at sixteen. I was chauffeur and errand runner for mom. I was confident, comfortable and responsible. Now, the thought of Nick driving scares the bejesus out of me.
"The Grandmother." Last night Wanda was expressing her thoughts on any recent accident involving younger people and cars. "You know not to talk on the phone and drive?" she said. And, never, never, ever, ever, ever, text. Don't eat, don't lose your focus, always concentrate on the road. Never speed and always use your turn signals. I think he is aware of all this and will be fine. But, a little extra input, as Grandma Sophie would say, couldn't hurt.
I'm very sure Wanda and I will worry about him the first ten or twenty years he's driving. Because, we're grandparents and that's what we do. Just when we can relax a little with the kids we start with the grand kids.
I had an incident with my favorite pair of jeans. The metal rivet button finally fell off leaving me three choices. I can, throw the pants out. I can wear them with a belt. Or, I can wear them while holding my crotch to keep them up. The other morning we saw a character with exposed underpants doing the "crotch touch" thing. I don't understand why this is done? Perhaps he is afraid it will fall off? Or maybe he is insecure and needs a constant reminder it's still there?
Wanda said, "I think women should start holding up their boobs."
I was fifteen soon to turn sixteen when the Beatles stormed this country. A couple of friends and I bought silly Beatles wigs. I remember wearing them around one of the large shopping centers. People stared at us like we were a form of alien being. I suppose the way kids dress now is just as silly in it's way, although there is a certain danger when going commando.
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