Luke the Magnificent Is Gone

Luke the Magnificent is gone. He went downhill fast his last two days. He would have been 18 in two months. We took him to the vet Thursday afternoon and said goodbye. He's now at the Rainbow Bridge with his sisters, Pansy Gardenia and Lily Magnolia.

Luke was our first and only little boy; all our other cats were girls. He’s also our only cat who picked me, rather than having me pick him. I never wanted a boy. Thought they’d be too much trouble. All that spraying and, well—catting around. But Luke wanted me and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I wanted him, too.

Luke came to us from a neighbor who had forced him to fend for himself as an outdoor cat. He migrated down the block to our front porch and settled in there about ten years ago. He was so thin that he looked ill. I started giving him the leftovers from my girls’ meals. (That would be Pansy and Lily.) Luke had been starving, so he filled out quickly. I treated his battle wounds with antibiotic creams and they gradually healed.

The next phase of his assimilation into our family was bringing him into the house overnight and in bad weather. I wanted to be sure he had all his shots. Since there are HIPA laws (Health Information Privacy Act) for pets as well as for humans, the only way I could get his history was to own him. In 2007 I formally adopted him from his original owners.

I learned that the neighbor had adopted Luke from the same shelter as my twin girls one month to the day before I took them home. I knew that other kittens in Pansy and Lily’s litter had found homes ahead of them. I like to think that Luke was their actual brother and that he recognized them through the windows on our front porch.

Luke appreciated having a roof over his head, two squares a day and two sisters to chase around the house. Well, really more like one. Pansy was a tough cookie. She’d been the alpha cat before Luke came along and she wasn’t about to step aside, no matter how much more muscular he was. We had a good run together, all of us.

Despite his hardscrabble early years, Luke outlived Pansy by over four years and Lily by over two. He enjoyed his five months in our condo with lots of light and open space. He especially liked finally having his mommy all to himself.

Luke would jump up on the bed after I’d settled in for the night. He’d perch on my chest in meatloaf position and wait for me to pet him and stroke his chin. I told him how much I loved him. He purred back how much he loved me, too. “Luke the Magnificent. Luke the Lion Hearted. Luke of Oriole.” All the while petting and stroking, while he purred.

“You’re so handsome and brave and strong. And did I mention handsome?” Still petting and stroking. And still purring. “You protect us. You patrol the perimeter. You chase away the interlopers and keep us safe.” Followed by more purrs of agreement. And so on, until I fell asleep or he got bored and moved down to curl up next to my feet.

At his checkup two years ago, tests showed he was suffering from several chronic ailments. I had decided there would be no heroics, no surgeries, no heavy-duty treatments that would make him miserable. We took him home expecting to have a few more good months with him. At his checkup 12 months later, he was only a little worse than the previous year. We considered every month a gift, and we had him almost another full year.

He was having problems just before Christmas, but he rallied so we could go to my sister’s for two days while someone checked in on him. He rallied even more at yearend, having a reasonably good January with surprising spurts of vitality. He wanted to go out last week and I had trouble following him around the yard. But time, his kidney problems and other unnamed ailments caught up with him this week. I knew when he stopped eating that there would not be one more blessed rally for him.

It’s strange to come home to an empty house after years of loving creatures there to greet us. The space where Luke’s food station used to be is achingly bare now. I will mourn my Luke for a long time. After a year or two it will get less painful, but the empty place in my heart will never be filled. I still cry for Tulip Wisteria and Daisy Hyacinth and they’ve been gone about 20 years. The losses of Pansy Gardenia and Lily Magnolia still feel fresh at four plus and two plus years.

Luke the Magnificent, who chose me because he knew I would love him dearly, will be his mommy’s boy forever.

Spousal Miscommunication

Now that my husband and I have retired to our condo, we’re spending a lot more time together. This has made me realize that I’m having increasing difficulty understanding what he’s saying to me. This may have always been a problem, but I just didn’t notice it because we spent so little time together. I assume that age plays a role. Whatever the reason for this spousal miscommunication, I’ve now categorized and charted the condition. See which types you recognize in your own relationships.

HOW YOU HEAR AND LISTEN—MAIN CATEGORIES

A.     You hear and understand everything that is said       10%

B.     You don’t hear at all                                                              25%

C.     You mishear what is said                                                     30%

D.    What he says doesn’t make sense                                     23%

E.     What he says isn’t what he means                                    12%

SUBCATEGORIES OF MISCOMMUNICATION

 

Why You Don’t Hear At All

A.     You’re watching TV                                                                20%

B.     You’re on your computer                                                      32%

C.     You’re reading a book/magazine                                        20%

D.    You’re going through the mail                                                8%

E.     You’re taking a nap                                                                    5%

F.     You’ve had 2 glasses of wine                                                 15%

Why You Mishear What Is Said

A.     He has food in his mouth                                                         15%

B.     He’s muttering into his chest                                                  25%

C.     He has chin in hand, which is covering his mouth            20%

D.    He has his back to you and has water running                   30%

E.     He’s in another room and thinks you’re there, too           10%

Why What He Says Doesn’t Make Sense

A.     He’s reading from a webpage and mispronouncing things  35%

B.     He’s changed the subject in the middle of a sentence            25%

C.     You’re in bed and you have earplugs in                                         8%

D.    He’s tired and he’s speaking Hindi                                               10%

E.     You’ve had 3 glasses of wine                                                          22%

Why What He Says Isn’t What He Means

A.     He’s using indefinite antecedents again (Which “he”? Who “they”?) 30%

B.     He has confused the time sequence of events                                  25%

C.     He has used one of his classic malapropisms                                   22%

D.    He doesn’t actually know what he means                                          15%

E.     He’s had just one sip of your wine                                                         8%

Interpreting Retirees’ Dreams

Kelly Ripa described a dream in which she was underwater, encircled by penguins. They were rubbing against her in a joyful way, as though she was part of their family. One viewer told Kelly that penguins in a dream mean you need freedom and crave adventure. Another said seeing fish underwater meant she’s pregnant. Kelly claimed she's not. Maybe that’s because penguins aren’t fish; they’re birds. All of this prompted me to research what certain dreams mean for retirees.

Dream: You’re about to take a nice, long soak in your jacuzzi tub. As you reach in to turn on the jets, you see that the tub is already filled with water. It’s also full of goldfish.

Interpretation: Your daughter’s triplets are finally walking. Money is tight, and she’s decided to go back to work. She’s also decided that you’ll make a cost-affective alternative to daycare. After all, they so love their nonna, and you certainly have lots of time on your hands now that you’re retired.

Dream: You’re in an unfamiliar neighborhood, desperately looking for lost pets from your younger years. They’ve moved on to the Rainbow Bridge already, but in your dream, they’re still alive. They’ve escaped from the house where you’re staying. You keep calling their names. Occasionally, you catch a glimpse of them, but they won’t come to you. You wake up in a panic and a cold sweat (not a hot flash).

Interpretation: You’re worried that someone close to you is going to die soon. Maybe someone whose name begins with the letter M. Or perhaps J. Or possibly T. For a modest contribution, we’ll give you more details; you’ll also receive our monthly newsletter: The Essential Fortune Teller, retirees’ version.

Dream: You come upon the first car you ever owned. Apparently, you still own it. It’s parked somewhere near a surveillance camera. Somehow this provides video proof that you didn’t do the smash-and-grab of which you’ve been accused. Your dream provides no information on said crime or on how you came to be accused of it. It plays like a film noir collaboration of Federico Fellini and Michelangelo Antonioni. Fellini directs the cats and Antonioni brings the noir.

Interpretation: You’re going to fail the eye test when your driver’s license is up for renewal. You’ll need expensive prescription glasses. Regular ones and sunglasses. And a spare pair of the regulars, just in case. I have no idea how this relates to the dream.

Dream: You discover a fire in the workshop you built in your retirement home. The projects you’ve started are all ablaze. The fire department arrives quickly, but the shop is a total loss. Your insurance company claims the fire started due to carelessness. You argue with them for months. You wake up before you learn whether they’ll cover the loss.

Interpretation: When you finally have time for whatever hobby you’ve planned for your retirement, it will be a disaster. Every relative and friend who finds out what you’re doing will want you to make one for them. And they’ll expect it to be a gift, even though you never exchanged gifts before you retired. The hobby will wind up costing so much that you’ll have to get a part time job.

Dream: You’ve been invited to join the Mah Jongg group in your retirement community. You’ve never been much of a card or game player, and these days concentration is a challenge. Not wanting to appear elitist, you accept the invite. Your first meeting is a fiasco. You forget how many tiles are in a pung and a kong. The game goes on for hours. In the background, you hear Brenda Lee’s song: I Want To Be Wanted, while you mutter: "The Chinese are diabolical."

Interpretation: You’ll be elected Secretary/Treasurer of the Social Committee in your community. Your neighbors have noted the limitations on your social graces and have recognized your facility with numbers and your computer skills. You decide they’re too judgmental, but you sign on for the gig anyway, because you want to be wanted.

Dream: The stock market has crashed. Really tanked. It’s wiped out almost all your retirement investments. You still have your pension and Social Security (for now), but your lifestyle must change dramatically. You’re afraid to tell your wife. She’s just been elected Secretary/Treasurer of the condo association’s Social Committee and she’s excited about making new friends.

Interpretation: This one is a no brainer. You’re worried that the stock market is going to crash. Really tank. It would wipe out almost all your retirement investments and your lifestyle would have to change dramatically. You’d better start thinking about how you’d tell your wife. She’s excited about the new friends she’s making.

If you’ve had any of these dreams, I feel your pain.

On-Line Meeting Groups for Retirees

You’re no doubt aware of websites like ChristianMingle.com that promise to successfully match up folks who share specific interests. Recently I saw an ad for a group I hadn’t realized needed help finding soulmates. It’s called FarmersOnly.com. They’re probably just cashing in on the fact that this season’s Bachelor (the ABC juggernaut) has a farmer from Iowa. Still, it suggests the potential for sites specific to retirees’ interests.

Let’s start with ones that bring together folks who share health issues that plague seniors. I hesitate to bring up gastric reflux, but older folks often experience this problem. If your ex-spouse found your digestive sound effects embarrassing, check out PardonMyBurp.com for your next relationship. For a slight extra fee, we’ll find someone whose reflux acts up after eating the same foods that plague you. We’re here to serve.

Arthritis sufferers will give a crooked thumbs up to StiffJoints.gov. Everyone here will be committed to one-floor living. Neither stair nor step will be found in their condos. There will even be a subgroup for those who swear by homeopathic remedies. My husband will be a special consultant to this site.

Having trouble with the fine print now that your arms have shrunk? Always misplacing your reading glasses? We have the perfect group for you. With a partner from MyGlassesOrYours.org there will be twice as many pairs around the house, so you’ll always have one handy when you need it. We are so there already in our household.

Next we have industry-based sites like the one that caters to those formerly in finance and banking. We’ll call it StillMakingMoneyTalk.com. We expect strong membership in the Carolinas. These guys will debate the virtues of a 40-year mortgage for someone who is collecting Social Security. The one we create for retirees from the garment business, SchmatteMates.com, will be advertised heavily in Florida. Our followers will spend their time bemoaning how Walmart is killing domestic production.

Another way to bring older folks together is by matching key areas of interest in their retirement. We’ll skip over the obvious cat lovers and dog adorers and go straight to DotingGramps.edu. Those who find their counterpart in this group will want to maintain separate finances. It’s one thing to share photos and bragging rights. But when it comes to the will, most folks won’t. (Share with someone else’s grandkids, that is.)

We can also make matches based on pet peeves. More specifically, we’ll screen out potential mates who engage in the behavior you find annoying. ShootTheSnorers.com members will be sure that they’ll sleep peacefully with a partner discovered on our carefully-screened site.  Those who join OutiesOnly.com won’t find themselves picking lint out of their spouse’s belly button every Sunday morning. I cannot overstate the importance of these types of pairings.

Another set of criteria we’ll use is behaviors—those things we do more of when we have extra leisure time. I can’t explain why some of these become prominent in retirement; I just know they do. Take for example making lists. I’ve always been a list maker, but I’m a borderline addict now. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid I’ll forget things. Of course, the more lists I have, the more I’m more prone to losing them. If you’d love to be an item on someone else’s list, sign on to ListLoversItems.com.

My husband has inspired the creation of a group for those who have succumbed to mumbling in their retirement. I can’t explain this one either. At first I thought it was my hearing that was going on the fritz. Then I noticed that he frequently has to repeat himself when he’s on the phone, and not just with strangers. His store staff seems to be asking “Say what?” all the time, too. For those who feel a kindred calling, check out MumblesMeMmbl.com.

Finally we have those who’ve fallen hostage to the family room couch. This happens gradually. One day you realize you’ve been in front of the TV for hours. You’d read a book, but you’ve misplaced your last pair of 3.25 magnifiers. Your condo has a lovely three-season sun porch, and you buy a laptop so you can enjoy the 270-degree view while you work. And yet… You’re still on the couch and it’s getting indentations like the ones in Norman Bates’ mom’s bed. Look for us on MashedCouchPototoes.com.

I expect some of my partnering sites will be more popular than others. But if FarmersOnly.com turns out to be a moneymaker, for sure there are at least a few cash cows among my ideas. Moo.

Banned Words and Phrases for 2015

January is the time for satirists to publish their annual lists of banned words. It’s my fourth year providing this service, and my 2015 list also includes phrases. As in past years, some words on my list turned up in other collections, too.

In 2015, I’m saying sayonara to Bucket, as in Bucket List and Ice Bucket Challenge. I’ve often bemoaned the fact that I don’t have a bucket list, but I still haven’t taken the time to make one. This year will likely be no different, so I’d rather just avoid that phrase altogether. Lists are still OK (I’d die without them); just not bucket ones.

As for the Ice Bucket Challenge, fundraisers will need to come up with something new this year. I’m cutting off the Gatorade Bucket Challenge at the pass. Ditto for any bucket challenge, for that matter. If you want to force your friends and relatives to part with their hard earned cash, how about a Tar and Feathers Challenge?

The second B-word banned in 2015 is Booty. It pains me to split with this delightfully evocative noun. Unfortunately others have overused it to the point where I need to leave it behind me. And put it in everyone else’s rearview mirror, too. Don’t worry, though; you can still talk about butts. And bums. Just not booties. Bummer.

Now that midyear elections are over, I’m done hearing Deep Dive, as in: deep dive into voting results. You can thank Florida Congressman Debbie Wasserman Schultz for this. In the marketing department at Colgate Palmolive we often said: “Figures don’t lie; liars figure.” Wasserman Schultz took it a step further by diving so deep into the data behind the 2014 election that she concluded the Democrats actually prevailed. Go figure.

Another political term we can do without in 2015 is Optics. Buzzword tells us this is “the way a situation looks to the general public.” But it’s really the way politicians want the public to see it. This is ironic, since the dictionary meaning of optics has to do with light and vision, while the political one has to do with obfuscation.

One of my pet peeves is the use of the word So to start a sentence. Virtually everyone does it. Since almost no one seems to understand the correct use of that word, I’ve decided to just ban it. So there. Similar to this is the gratuitous use of Sure as a prelim to the reply to a question, but I’m not counting that as one of my ten this year. Just sayin’.

There are two phrases I’d like to ban by eliminating the need to use them. The first is Abundance of Caution. This landed on my list because of some top news stories of 2014. The fear of homegrown terrorist attacks inspired by Isis led to many over-zealous reactions, including flight delays, bridge closings and social media sites scrubbed. Then there was the debacle surrounding Sony’s motion picture “The Interview.” These reactions pale in comparison to steps taken in response to the Ebola scare in the US.

Mayor Brad Sellers of Warrensville Heights, OH closed City Hall because the husband of a city employee was on a flight with a health worker who later tested positive for Ebola. Sellers put the city workers on leave while the building was thoroughly cleaned by an outside company. Remember Chicken Little?

Directly related to the previous ban is the one on Inadvertent Breach of Protocol. Ebola burned this so deeply into the news that I grind my teeth whenever I hear the phrase. I’d flinch at a deliberate breach, too, but you never hear that.

Also on my not again radar is EITs. If someone is compelled to tell us anything more about Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, have him replace that acronym with the word "torture" or with the name of the actual technique (water boarding, sleep deprivation, etc.) Better yet, just stop using those methods.

I’m also tired of Proportional. In mathematics, we understand that has to do with ratios. But when we’re talking retaliation to another entity’s actions, people rarely know what it means. In press conferences we take proportional to mean the speaker doesn’t know yet what the plans are, or he doesn’t want to share them. When someone says they’re going to respond “in kind,” we assume it will be a tit for tat. But proportional? Who can say? Because everything’s relative after all.

Finally, can we please deep six the word Vortex (as in Polar) this year? I don’t know what alternatives weathermen have, but they’ll need to come up with something. Every time I hear vortex, my head spins. I have enough issues with balance at my age without external provocation.

So be it for 2015.