A Redheaded-90-Year-Old Grandmother!

I should’ve seen her coming. I should’ve known I was about to blow sky high. When you put a Cel phone into the hands of a 90-year-old grandmother, it is like putting a Porsche into the hands of a sixteen year old. It gives them the license to squeal their wheels, conquer their world, and the power to say, “I’ve arrived.”

Well, I also arrived early at my watercolor class. I have a method of setting up, getting ready to dazzle the guests at the Wyndham Resorts with my 45 years of art experience and knowledge. The students arrived early and found a place where they would create a beautiful watercolor. It was their moment to discover the world of art in Betty Slade’s watercolor class. Yes, it would be a moment of greatness for everyone. It didn’t exactly happen that way.

I noticed a little redheaded lady playing with her phone. I know how it feels to conquer technology in your later years. It’s like standing on a mountaintop and shouting, “Look what I’ve got. I even know how to use it.”

Ten minutes before the class began, grandma received a phone call. I thought it would be quick. After all, these students paid to learn how to paint. The call went on and on. The students were looking at me, at her, and then back at me.

I introduced myself over the muffled voice coming from the phone, and then I had the students introduce themselves and tell a little about their art experience and where they were from. Grandma was still talking on the phone.

 I looked at the clock. It was 8:55. We still had a few minutes before we started. I sent the list around for them to sign in. I did all the preliminaries. Grandma was still talking.

When the clock struck 9 am, I said to her, “Please take your call outside.” She held up her hand and shook her head. I said it again only with more authority, “You need to take your call outside.” She shook her head again and put her hand over her eyes.

Remember, the rest of the class was looking to me to do something. Their eyes were going back and forth from me to her. They were waiting patiently.

I needed to do something to save the day. I looked at her niece who came with her. She looked the other way.

Finally, grandma put down her phone and I said very stoutly, “Everyone, please turn off your phone. It is not right for the other students when your phone rings. It disturbs the class. It’s courtesy.”

She said with entitlement, “That was a very important phone call, I needed to take it.”

“I don’t care, it’s disturbing to the class.”

Then she said, “I was talking to the people at the Arlington Cemetery. They are going to handle my dead husband’s ashes.”

I looked at her sternly. She wasn’t going to pull that card on me. I said, “It’s rude to talk in front of people and keep everyone waiting.”

The class gulped and softened with a quiet, “Oh, how sad.” They had switched allegiance to her side.

But, I didn’t waiver, I said to her, “Please turn off your phone.”

Finally, we all pulled ourselves together and continued creating beautiful watercolors. That evening Al and I met with our children for pizza. One of our daughters said, “Mother, tell them about the 90-year-old woman at your painting class.”

I was still a little upset about it all, but I put on my storytelling hat, gave a slight laugh, and began telling about my experience that morning.

My other daughter said, “Mother, what’s wrong with you. You didn’t have to use that tone. You could have softened it. You’ve been angry lately, I’ve not known you to be this way.”

“It wasn’t my fault. It was her fault. She was using her dead husband’s ashes to be rude.”

My son-in-law jumped into the conversation and took my side. He told of his woe about a phone call earlier that day during a meeting. He understood.

I quipped back, “It’s just rude.”

“But you should have been nice.”

“I was, I was just stern.”

“You could have said it with a different tone. Did you apologize?”

“No. She should have apologized.”

“Mother, you need to be kind.”

We left the restaurant and the pizza was lodged in my throat. I was determined never to tell my family anything else again, except maybe to my son-in-law. But, then again, I’ll have to choose my stories. He gets a little uptight about these articles. Oh me, what’s a person to do?

Final Brushstroke! I should have taken the higher ground and been kinder. Sometimes it feels so good to wallow in the mud, even if it’s just for a few minutes, but it doesn’t produce a good night sleep. I’ll try to be kinder next time.

Writers don’t always love their words!

Oh for heaven’s sake, I was on my way to a writer’s conference to learn how to be a wordsmith. I should not be in public when I’m tired and overworked. I knew I was verging on overload, but it did not come out until I was in the car with three other fellow writers.

We picked up a writer on the way. She was very tall and very thin, probably 6’2”, 98 pounds. With a little makeup and a new haircut, she could be beautiful.

I decided to make small talk. I should’ve stopped there. I didn’t. I asked her how big her farm was.

She said 259 acres and she owned 29 alpacas.

I knew what it took for Al to keep up our few acres on the Blanco, so I said to her,

“Do you work your ranch all by yourself? You look too weak to do all that.”

She bolted out of her skin. “I’ve never been called weak.”

I quickly said, “Maybe, I meant to say frail.”

“My friends know that I’m not weak. Give me your hand.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it until it hurt and turned blue.

I pulled it away and shook it to get the blood circulating again. “I believe you. You are strong.”

She was probably thinking, This little fatty is calling me weak, I could beat her at arm wrestling.

I wasn’t going to give her my hand again, but I was digging the hole deeper. Why didn’t I shut up? Remember, I’m tired and overworked, and I shouldn’t be in public. I asked, “Does anyone help you with the work?”

She was not ready to give it up. She said,  “No. I had some big poles in my barn and they were in my way. I got a rope and threw it over the rafter, and I pulled them up one by one, and I moved all those poles by myself. I can’t believe you think I’m weak. The only thing I don’t do is tune my tractor once a year, but I do everything else.”

“That’s amazing, I know that Al tries to do everything himself, too. He can’t keep up with everything, and we don’t have alpacas.”

The four writers went to the all day meeting. Afterwards, we jumped back into the car, all except for Jesus. We left him in Montrose, CO. That was another mistake. We made our six-hour trip home.

My comments really disturbed her. She must take great pride in doing all that work herself. Half way home we stopped the car, and everyone went into the store except for the two of us.

She got out of the car and walked around. She said, “I have to work the kinks out in my long legs, I’m not use to sitting this long.”

“I understand.”

She hit me again, “I can’t believe you said I was weak.”

“Well, it was a compliment.” Listen to what I said next. “You don’t look like an old ranch woman, I see you as a genteel lady. You don’t look like a raw bone cow. I thought that was a farmer’s term of endearment.” Then I said, “Maybe it is your soft voice and baby talk. Your voice is so soft.”

She bolted back, “I taught school for 30 years, they didn’t want to hire me because I talked so soft, but I had no problem with disciplining the children, they rather liked that I talked soft.”

“That’s nice.”

At our family’s Sunday night dinner, I was re-hashing the trip. My daughter said, “Sounds like you stepped in it and spent the whole trip scraping your foot in the grass to get it off.  You should’ve just changed shoes.”

My Sweet Al said, “You should have said--”

I held up my hand and said, “No, Al, I think I said enough.

My daughter warns people, don’t ask her opinion after 9pm. She knows when she is tired and the gate latch is loose, she will tell you what she is really thinking. Her friends know to leave at 9 o’clock.

Final Brushstroke: So here’s my warning: Don’t mess with me when I’m tired and overworked. A writer doesn’t always love her own words, but she’s going to say them anyway, and then probably write about it.

A Redheaded-90-Year-Old Grandmother!

I should’ve seen her coming. I should’ve known I was about to blow sky high. When you put a Cel phone into the hands of a 90-year-old grandmother, it is like putting a Porsche into the hands of a sixteen year old. It gives them the license to squeal their wheels, conquer their world, and the power to say, “I’ve arrived.”

Well, I also arrived early at my watercolor class. I have a method of setting up, getting ready to dazzle the guests at the Wyndham Resorts with my 45 years of art experience and knowledge. The students arrived early and found a place where they would create a beautiful watercolor. It was their moment to discover the world of art in Betty Slade’s watercolor class. Yes, it would be a moment of greatness for everyone. It didn’t exactly happen that way.

I noticed a little redheaded lady playing with her phone. I know how it feels to conquer technology in your later years. It’s like standing on a mountaintop and shouting, “Look what I’ve got. I even know how to use it.”

Ten minutes before the class began, grandma received a phone call. I thought it would be quick. After all, these students paid to learn how to paint. The call went on and on. The students were looking at me, at her, and then back at me.

I introduced myself over the muffled voice coming from the phone, and then I had the students introduce themselves and tell a little about their art experience and where they were from. Grandma was still talking on the phone.

 I looked at the clock. It was 8:55. We still had a few minutes before we started. I sent the list around for them to sign in. I did all the preliminaries. Grandma was still talking.

When the clock struck 9 am, I said to her, “Please take your call outside.” She held up her hand and shook her head. I said it again only with more authority, “You need to take your call outside.” She shook her head again and put her hand over her eyes.

Remember, the rest of the class was looking to me to do something. Their eyes were going back and forth from me to her. They were waiting patiently.

I needed to do something to save the day. I looked at her niece who came with her. She looked the other way.

Finally, grandma put down her phone and I said very stoutly, “Everyone, please turn off your phone. It is not right for the other students when your phone rings. It disturbs the class. It’s courtesy.”

She said with entitlement, “That was a very important phone call, I needed to take it.”

“I don’t care, it’s disturbing to the class.”

Then she said, “I was talking to the people at the Arlington Cemetery. They are going to handle my dead husband’s ashes.”

I looked at her sternly. She wasn’t going to pull that card on me. I said, “It’s rude to talk in front of people and keep everyone waiting.”

The class gulped and softened with a quiet, “Oh, how sad.” They had switched allegiance to her side.

But, I didn’t waiver, I said to her, “Please turn off your phone.”

Finally, we all pulled ourselves together and continued creating beautiful watercolors. That evening Al and I met with our children for pizza. One of our daughters said, “Mother, tell them about the 90-year-old woman at your painting class.”

I was still a little upset about it all, but I put on my storytelling hat, gave a slight laugh, and began telling about my experience that morning.

My other daughter said, “Mother, what’s wrong with you. You didn’t have to use that tone. You could have softened it. You’ve been angry lately, I’ve not known you to be this way.”

“It wasn’t my fault. It was her fault. She was using her dead husband’s ashes to be rude.”

My son-in-law jumped into the conversation and took my side. He told of his woe about a phone call earlier that day during a meeting. He understood.

I quipped back, “It’s just rude.”

“But you should have been nice.”

“I was, I was just stern.”

“You could have said it with a different tone. Did you apologize?”

“No. She should have apologized.”

“Mother, you need to be kind.”

We left the restaurant and the pizza was lodged in my throat. I was determined never to tell my family anything else again, except maybe to my son-in-law. But, then again, I’ll have to choose my stories. He gets a little uptight about these articles. Oh me, what’s a person to do?

Final Brushstroke! I should have taken the higher ground and been kinder. Sometimes it feels so good to wallow in the mud, even if it’s just for a few minutes, but it doesn’t produce a good night sleep. I’ll try to be kinder next time.

Holes in our pocket? Time to sew them up!

Don’t think I’m saying people are out to get us. But I am seeing things as they are. Al and I haven’t taken time to notice how things are stripping us of the few coins in our pockets.

It’s those little things that go unnoticed. For instance, today I had a rude awakening when I was going through old homeowner’s insurance policies. I knew the premiums were inching up twenty or thirty dollars a month over the last few years. I’ve been too busy to question the bills. I just pay them.

Our homeowner’s insurance went up because the insurance company decided we needed more coverage. Our premium has gone up $800.00 from 2011 until now. I called the agent. I told him, “It’s just not right, you increased the policy, and you didn’t even ask us.”

He said, “Oh, I see you’ve got the Platinum Package.”

“I don’t want the Platinum Package.”

“We can put you into the Gold Package. Your premium will go down $400.00.”

“I’m looking for another insurance company.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Slade you feel that way.”

Then the agent for my 20% supplementary insurance policy sent notice this month that they will be increasing my monthly premium to $300.00 a month, which will be automatically withdrawn from my account.

I called the agent and told him, “Cancel it.”

His response was, “Why?”

“Because, between Al and I our 20% supplementary insurance will be costing us $600.00 a month. We would rather go on a cruise.”

“Are you going with someone else?”

“Probably, we don’t need your services at this price. I am never sick. I haven’t made a claimed on this insurance for the past six years. Why are you going up on me?”

He didn’t answer my question, but said, “You have the L Plan, since you aren’t sick or use the insurance, we can move you into the F Plan. That means, your premium will go down from $300.00 to $124.00 a month. The only problem, you won’t have total coverage. You will have to pay $2,400 over the 80% that Medicare will pay. Then your insurance will kick in.”

“I’ll have to think about it. I’ll call you.”

How do they all get their hands in my pocket, and unabashedly just take money out of my account? They act totally innocent. Then, to add fuel to the situation, they try to sell me something else. Why didn’t they sell that to me in the first place?

Part of understanding the change my Sweet Al and I are going through, I’m starting to look at some of these things. It’s time to start questioning these people who I thought had our best interest in mind. Hello! They are in the insurance business. They are selling insurance. Of course, they are going to put us into the Platinum Plan or the L plan.

In the past I’ve let Al handle it. I didn’t question it. It’s time to get the sewing machine out and sew up some of these holes in our pockets. I’ve got to smarten up. I’m shopping around. I’m asking questions. Amazing, how agents seem to become more workable, creative and have a better plan. I don’t want to mess with these things, but I have to.

I remember years ago saying to my longtime friend, Betty Lucero, “Why is it always a fight?”

She said, “Why do you see it as a fight? You are just confronting the situation. Don’t see it as a fight.”

Final Brushstroke! Okay, it’s not a fight. It’s time to confront these things that are stripping us of our coins. It’s time to sew the holes up in our pockets. 

Hey! I'm not your enemy here. I'm your friend.

“Hey, I’m not your enemy here, I’m your friend,” I told one of the family members last week.

What happens when you are ready to make a change? You understand it’s necessary for the growth and wellbeing of everyone concerned. But, not everyone is ready to change, and you can’t make anyone until they are.  Today they’re all comfortable. But, tomorrow they won’t be, because life will go on without them.

I told our family in February, things are changing with your Dad and I, our age and our limitations for doing things are challenged. I don’t like it, but we can’t keep up with the workload. We are going to make some changes. Probably we won’t be able to get it all done until September 1^st, but we are working on downsizing.

In the meanwhile, I said to our daughter last week, we might need for you to move from the apartment sooner than we thought.

She said to me, “You said I had until September 1^st.”

“Things have changed.”

“I’m not going to be ready until September 1^st.”

“You need to be. I’ve been telling you since February.”

When personalities clash, you feel like you’ve just been beat up with a baseball bat. I’m the rational one here, but I just became the odd guy out. I am sure that our daughter felt like she was beat up, too.

My friend came over to help with some of the work. She said, “There are a couple people here in denial. They don’t look like they’re planning on moving. One is planting trees and a garden, and the other one is helping her. They don’t think you are serious.”

“I’m more serious than you know. It’s getting tougher and tougher on Al to keep up two properties. What we thought we needed before is not reality today.  We once loved building, dreaming and doing all our projects. That was yesterday. We can dream again, but in smaller ways. Ways that brings comfort to us and not more work.”

My 4,000 square foot art gallery and studio are not necessary today. I’m also giving up things as an artist, a certain persona, and a certain privilege to own it and say that I own it. The price is too high just to say I own something. But in return, I’m getting things done that will add to our wellbeing.

First of all, we will be kinder to ourselves. We will have time to go on a vacation. The price to have all that space has become a noose around our neck financially and personally.

To let go of prized possessions are also uncomfortable, but think of what I won’t have to dust. At the moment, in all, there are 7 bathrooms to clean in 5 cabins, an apartment and a 4-bedroom house. This is not counting the house we live in. Yes, it is time.

I love the poem that says,

“Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Anais Nin.

I can see the writing on the wall. Everyone has been very comfortable, too comfortable. They want to remain tight in the bud. It’s a good life and no one wants to do it different. I can get poetic and tell them they will miss the fullness of the blossom. They won’t buy it. They’re still mad at me.

Our daughter is a companion to My Sweet Al. They have fun together, but they also enable each other.  It’s unfair for us to ask one of our children to put their life on hold so we can be happy.

My Sweet Al said, “I’m going to miss her.”

I said to him,  “I will miss her, too. But she can visit us on her days off. You can meet her for Grape Slushies at Happy Hour. You will have time to go fishing with her.”

“But, I don’t have time to go fishing.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. You will have time when you don’t have so much to do.”

I know you love to do all that stuff together. You can have puppy-play-days for your dogs. They won’t forget each other. We will still have family night once a week with Al and Allison.”

Meanwhile I said to our daughter, get pre-approved for a loan. You have a down payment. Buy your own little house, and start building for yourself. You were on your own for 20 years, and you made it just fine. You will see that your life will start expanding, also. You do not want to grow old with us.

I’m sure I’m causing some raised eyebrows. What does it hurt? What’s the big deal? Sweet Al is happy, let him be.

Update! Our daughter has fallen in love with a little house, she’s made an offer, everyone is happy now. Wow! What it takes to make a change.

Final Brushstroke! Why fluff up the nest if you don’t have to? Why, because, we will not grow personally, and we will become resolved with the way it is?  We do an injustice to each other when we settle to remain tight in the bud.