Every day, we choose the road we set our feet upon. Each inch we travel is a minute step in the right direction as long as that direction is forward. Don’t stand still, don’t hesitate, don’t stop moving.
Others will make inroads against us…don’t let them. Do not allow anyone to take from us what we are not willing to give freely. Don’t let them sneak up on you.
Do our hard thinking along the way so when we reach your crossroads you’ll know the direction you are meant to take. This will never be easy and we will likely be here more than once. If you take the wrong turn the first time, remember it well…and do better the next.
The dirt roads are mere side trips; chances to meet new people, try new things, gain new insight, or just look for a place to breathe. These are the paths that make the journey worthwhile.
There will always be bumps in the road ahead…there has never been a completely flat road and there never will be. Some are visible, some clouded in the fog of our mind’s eye…but there, they are. We must use caution on the way to planting our flag of accomplishment on the top, and always leave a word or two of encouragement there for the ones that follow. And remember, we are gaining strength with each step up and over to the other side. The next one will be a little easier and the one after that and the one after that.
Don’t fear the detours, they are a necessary part of our journey. As long as our destination is clear, how we get there matters little and there’s nothing wrong with a change of scenery. Sights to be enjoyed, experiences to be treasured, lessons to be learned…Life recalculated.
The road blocks are meant to test us. They will stop some in their tracks; end the journey because it just got too hard. Don’t let this happen. We must use them as tools to hone our skills of adjusting, ingenuity, imagination, and self-reliance. Don’t give in and don’t give up…give ’em hell.
There may be times we find ourselves on the outside, what I call the out roads. This is not a place to be. This is a place of indecision, self-doubt, fear of the unknown, and even fear of the known. The kind of fear that lives in the dark places, leaves us afraid to step forward, or afraid to move at all. Lost. If we find ourselves here…we must stop, open our minds, hearts, and eyes…for this is the time to ask for help.
We can see them; the people in our lives we love and respect; lining the shoulder of the roads we’ve walked…reaching out. They are waiting, they are willing, they are there to help you back on your path. But they cannot do it for you…admit you are lost, take the hands that are offered, and begin again. One step at a time.
I’ve got a bone to pick and I’m gonna pick it clean.
Then I’m gonna give it to my DOG to finish off.
Yes.
My DOG.
The same one that shared this day with me eating mini ice cream sandwiches and snuggling together in the rear-end of a Jeep…
In the Vet’s parking lot…
Staring death in the face with a face full of vanilla and teeth full of chocolate cookie crust (his too.)…
Yeah, that one…Ripken, my beloved 10 year old B’Lab
The subject of my last post celebrating his life and mourning his demise.
Why?
Because my Vet is a douche…that’s why.
Okay, maybe not a douche.
How about insensitive, callous, money-grubbing, gotta pull in the bucks to justify my position as the newest Vet in this practice, A’hole?
Yeah, that’s better.
Here’s how it went down almost a month ago (I feel like I should put this to music like Harper Valley PTA or something):
Yearly check-up; three-year rabies shot; lyme vaccine; snap test
Vet says he looks good except…
I’m concerned about this growth, this tumor, in his right armpit
I’ve looked at his records, and I see he was here 6 months ago (for an intestinal problem) and this mass was not there
The fact that it grew so large, so fast, and seems tender to the touch tells me it’s something we need to be concerned with.
Normally, I’d say it’s just a fatty deposit, but not in this case. I believe we are looking at a malignancy here
ME: Can you give me an idea of how much I’m looking at to find out? Financially speaking, I need to know
I can certainly give you an estimate for how much it would be to do the pathology and remove the tumor, but subsequent treatment would be expensive
ME: OK, I’ll need that estimate before I make a decision
Of course
Estimate: $970 – (nothing specified about what the cost would be to treat the ‘cancer’)
ME: I hate that it comes down to money, but I can’t afford this
Oh I completely understand. Take some time to think about it and let me know
ME: Okay, but I know what my finances are…I can’t afford this
I completely understand, but just think about it and let me know. Take the time you need, but I don’t think you should wait too long
ME: Okay, I’ll think about what I can do, and I’ll talk to my family, but I can’t afford this only to find out it’s a cancer I can’t afford to have treated
Get to Vet’s office – packed beyond belief – had to park in another county practically – no sweat, more time to sit and snuggle and eat ice cream sandwiches with the Dude
Go into office at scheduled time, 5:30 pm, alone, to complete all paperwork and pay fee without Rip having to be in there
Told they are waaaay backed up, would I mind waiting?
Ummmm, yes, in fact I WOULD mind waiting. This is not the kind of appointment one wants to sit and ponder amonst the other four-legged beasts running around.
Told it would only be a moment then…they’d get a room ready right away. She returns within seconds telling me to go ahead and bring him in.
I do that. We go to the room. The Vet comes in…
Aw, and how’s old Ripken?
{I explained the last two weeks in detail)
Oh, so he’s not eating or drinking. Well, let’s have a look see what a treat does for him
{I watch as Ripken about tears the guy’s fingers off taking the treat. Maybe I should have warned him about Ripken and those biscuits}
Wow…I have to tell you, this dog is not telling me he’s ready to die. His breathing is a bit loud and labored, but that’s his age. But he’s active and took that treat well enough
{I look at him like he’s gone mental. Was he suggesting I was there to kill my dog for no reason?}
ME: No…YOU told me that and based on the last two weeks, I believed it. This is NOT the same behavior of the last two weeks {except the biscuits}
Now, really, I’m not concerned with that growth. I feel it’s just a fatty deposit and as your dog’s advocate, I must tell you that based on what I’m seeing here today, this is a healthy dog, and in good conscience, I can’t do what you are asking me to do
What I”M ASKING? Do you realize what your comments to me during our last visit did to me? And how those comments lead to my sitting here today, in this office, having spent the last 4 days beating myself up and grieving for him? Do you think I’m here to rid myself of a loved family member for financial reasons?
I’m only telling you that I can’t do what you came here to do in all good conscience because I feel he’s healthy and just showing his age
{By now, I’m about hysterical, but from anger…}
I am not leaving this office until you do whatever you have to do to prove this is NOT a cancerous tumor; tell me the cause of the last two weeks; and I AM NOT PAYING FOR IT. YOU ARE.
Of course. I will aspirate the mass and I’ll take a stool sample. If, you’ll hold him
{Just give me a biscuit dumbass}
Aspiration done, sample taken, Vet disappears, returns 15 minutes later…
I was correct. That mass is nothing to worry about, for now, it’s just fat
And the stool sample shows he’s loaded with bacteria, which I can treat, with medication. And this bacteria is absolutely the cause of his lack of appetite and lethargy. It’s common and treatable.
All I ask is that you give him a fair chance. Let him take the medication for a couple days. If there’s no improvement, we can revisit it.
What? A fair chance? You tell me my dog has a malignant tumor, tell me to make up my mind quickly, it’s only $970 to be on the safe side, and you tell ME to give him a fair chance? Give him pills for a couple days and then you’ll revisit killing him?
That’s all I’m asking. I can’t stop you from going through with this, but I can’t do it. I’ll not charge you for anything but the pills and I’ll only charge you what they cost me.
{Lord, get me away from this man before I BITE HIM}
Get me the pills, refund my prepaid murder for hire fee, and we’ll be gone.
He did and we were.
FOR FUCKING EVER!
My Dude…alive and well…despite modern medicine! When did Vets become like all the rest?
See Ma..all I needed was some ice cream and chocolate cookie stuff. Oh, and the biscuits…don’t forget the biscuits. 🙂
One year ago yesterday, I officially started blogging. Of course, that blog no longer exists due to a minor meltdown of major proportions or a major meltdown of minor proportions…take your pick. The result is the same. I erased myself!
But…as happens little, if ever, in life, I got another chance.
Okay, I TOOK another chance; to reinvent myself.
I won’t win any inventor’s award or have to worry about someone stealing my patent, but all things considered, I’m happy with the new me.
I’m still sarcastic, but only when it’s warranted.
I still swear (occasionally), but I really do have a new outlook.
As I now have to look out for myself, numero uno, in all respects, this learning curve has been somewhat daunting and intimidating, but as each new opportunity has arisen for me to apply this new-found self-reliance, I’ve found it easier and easier. I’m getting the hang of it!
NOTE: And to my lady lovelies…I highly recommend you start this process too, if you haven’t already. Learn to be your own best defense. If there’s something you hate to do, don’t know how to do, usually leave to the brawn…STOP. The harder it is…the more necessary it is to take the lead and do yourself. No matter your current life situation, circumstance, comfort level…don’t wait until the day comes, if the day comes, where you find yourself in this position. Capiche?
So, this new me had a plan. To do something special to commemorate my one year. But as they say “the best laid plans…”
Instead of heading to a recently discovered photographic wow spot, to take the photo I wanted to accompany my anniversary post, I ended up sitting in the waiting room of my waaay too familiar car dealerships‘ service department. Long story short, came home hours later without my car. Again. For the fourth time.
But please, these guys are oooooh so good.
Really.
So polite. So caring. Who else would have left me out there for three and a half hours without a word or an update. Left me so long that I finally got pissed off I went into their space demanding said update. Imagine what those poor souls have to put up with? Ungrateful bitches like me? After all, it could have been four hours, or four and a half. But it wasn’t. It was only three and a half. What was I bitching about. They did say they were sorry.
Now, the rest of the story…
The desk jockey walked me back to the garage so the mechanic could speak directly to me because the jockeys in the front either don’t know shit from shinola about cars or just couldn’t be bothered to explain it to me. He walked me through the garage to the last bay where I see half my car’s insides laying on the garage floor, and the explanation I received from the mechanic ‘working’ on her went something like this:
“Well see, it’s like this…um, ah, I think I know what the problem is, almost sure what it is, it’s definitely in the electronics, and I’m almost certain I can figure it out, but I’m not there yet. This is a foreign car and I don’t work on many foreign cars. Everything is so small. I have to remove all this so I can see what I’m doing.”
Perhaps that sounds logical to some. Admitting you don’t know what you’re doing is not an easy thing to do, one would imagine. Props need to be given for his honesty. Right? But, hang on…for my part, I literally felt and saw the red flag spring up out of my head like the flag on a putting green. Boinnnnng.
Why? Because the dealership I bought the car from, bought the extended service plan from, and entrusted my car to these certified grease monkeys is….yes…an import dealer.
They sell and service ‘foreign’ cars.
Anyone else see a problem here?
Am I expecting too much? Being unrealistic in my thinking that this import dealership that sold me an imported car and an extended service plan for this imported beauty could actually SERVICE imported cars? Could actually FIX her should something go wrong?
Mmmmmkay. Mmmmaybe.
Mmmmeanwhile, in the span of time it took me to pen my frustration..I got the call, from the service manager. Time to go pick her up. The somewhat paraphrased conversation follows. Me in italics…
Fixed?
Nope.
Reason?
We don’t have the right equipment to diagnose the problem.
So I’m not the first idiot to buy this model car and service plan from you?
I didn’t sell you the car or the service plan. I just fix them.
Do you?
Well, the ones we sell, yes
Really? You sold me this one and the premium, high performance service plan to go with it. You sold me a vehicle that you cannot in fact, service. Correct?
Not me personally, but yes.
Okay. My options?
You can take it to a Mini dealer. They can fix it. And I did call the closest one for you and spoke to their service manager. He said they would honor the extended service plan, you only have to pay the deductible.
That was very nice of you. So all I have to do is take the short 90 minute jaunt to the nearest dealer that sells and services my particular brand of imported finery every time she needs more than an oil change or state inspection. Correct?
You can call me first. We can talk about it. If it’s something electrical, then yes. If it’s something mechanical, we can try.
Oh right, the computer thing again. Tell me Denise (we are on a first name basis, Denise and I), can you recall the last two times I brought her in? Neither was electrical. Both are mechanical. And I say are because they are ongoing issues that your mechanics could not seem to fix. Do you still say I should call and ‘talk’ about these things with you?
I can’t promise anything, but you can try us first. I do apologize.
Thank you for the apology Denise. Could you do me a favor though?
Sure, anything I can do to help.
And please don’t take this the wrong way, it’s not personal…but could you go fuck yourself?
Cost of gas? $3.89/gallon
Cost of burning that bridge? $0.00
Cost of employing my new sense of self and old sense of gutter language? PRICELESS
Perhaps a new night lite is warranted? And just hush…no night lite cracks.
But I can’t help but think this crazy cock is gonna get clocked if he doesn’t shoosh!
Is this what sleepless in snow land
does to people who go to bed with stupid smart phones?
Guess that’s a rhetorical question.
Maybe he’s just overly protective and is showing me the sun? That’s a nice thought…crazy…but nice.
Okay Rooster McOptimist, I get it. The sun is just over the horizon. It’ll be here by dawn.
Do you think you can go to bed now and let me do the same?
That would be swell.
I promise I’ll never do this again.
Night everyone.
🙂
Three years ago today…March 1, 2013, I re-entered the blogosphere to share my thoughts and speak my mind on life’s many shades of gray. Having survived the hugely regretful menopause fueled meltdown deletion of my original blogonality, Help Me Rhonda, I’m more than happy I made the decision to try again.
I am also very thankful for the old friends that found the new me, and thrilled with the new friends I’ve made since. So, I’d like to celebrate this birthday with a stroll down memory lane by revisiting 50 Shades of Gray Hair’s inaugural post…as well as thanking you all once again, for adding your own hues to my 50 shades, and leaving your heart-prints all over mine.
And I just have to point out…the first sentence of the 4th paragraph? The one I’ve highlighted in red? Oy…prophetic or WHAT!! 🙂
This first official post has me feeling like I’m coming back to Junior High after summer break. But instead of that obligatory ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation’ essay, I’m standing in front of the class reading mine entitled…
Though I am no longer the pimply-faced teen, sweating the small stuff…I AM a wrinkly-faced grandmother sweating with the flashes and spending way too much time looking for those things I knew I needed, at the time I needed them but forgot I had…and when I did find them, I couldn’t remember why I needed them in the first place.
Ha…I’m not really wrinkly-faced; it’s more of a wrinkly feeeeling. The memory thing is spot on though, as are the questions about where life went and what new and wonderful surprises will pop up, slide down, fall off, or turn colors, each and every morning.
[Not to mention what happens AFTER I leave the bathroom…yikes]
Those first steps of the day can make it or break your leg...if you’re not paying attention. Life’s stairs are steep; you need to open your eyes, clear your head, hang onto the handrail, and take one step at a time. That isn’t to say you can’t ride the rail once in a while…hop on the banister and whoop your way down…
…Just watch out for the splinters along the way. They are a pain in the ass!
No one said it would be easy. At least no one said it to me. Of course, no one said it would be this hard either. But, I have realized, it’s only as hard as we make it. Which, I believe, is why I’m here…again.
Life can be hard, but never as hard as when you turn inward thinking to shelter and protect, only to wake up and realize you are just adding more and more wrinkles. Those ‘oldest woman on earth’ kind of wrinkles; ‘my wrinkles have wrinkles’ kind of wrinkles; ‘when I stand I sound like an accordion‘ kind of wrinkles.
Old.
I’m talking feeling old!
And I’m too young to feel this old.
Too young to BE this old.
So, I’m starting by ironing and straightening out some of those internal wrinkles. Getting up and out of my life’s laundry basket and getting to work. (Don’t worry, I won’t ever use that term again! And if any of you remember anything about my old blog…you may recall I HATE IRONING!)
Each day – a new stretch
Each stretch – one less wrinkle.
And I know I’m not doing it alone.
That’s the key. I’m letting those that love me take one end while I take the other…and together we’ll pull some of those suckers out.
And for the one’s that can’t be pulled…I have a turbo charged steam iron.
Yes, I do.
It’s called ‘The Future”!
And when the time comes to let the roots show, I’ll be ready.
Safe travels my friends.
50 Shades of Gray Hair 
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