Saturday, August 10, 2013

Broom Closet Calendar

An acquaintance of mine woke up goofy. Didn't know what day it was. He too lives in a little old motorhome, like me. Next thing I heard he was in the hospital with a brain aneurysm. Now they can't find it and tell him they will go look for it next week. I feel so sorry for him suddenly living in a scary hospital.

My gosh, I am perpetually confused about the date and time of year. Occasionally I wake up with a head ache that makes me want to scream, but I muffle it with a pillow.  I convince myself there is nothing wrong. I am imagining things.  I smile, I pet the dog, I chant.  Anything to make the headache vanish by sheer will. Please don't ever let me end up in another hospital. It would kill my spirit and they'd just have a lifeless body to put up with.

Ever since I got out of that hell hole of a hospital where I spent a month mostly in ICU in 2009, I've been confused about seasons, dates, times, calendars and even the day of the week. I was hit over the head pretty darn hard though that was just one of many reasons that landed me in a hospital.

Recently I put a calendar in my broom closet. I've always kept a clock in there. It's a cute little night light with a battery clock. I figure I sit in the broom closet more often than anywhere else in the RV. Now I can study up on the current date and stash that in my tiny brain throughout the day.

My broom closet is multifunctional.

Now I can not only study the clock, but ponder the calendar too. It helps, I've discovered, if you put the calendar up for the correct year and figure out the month that should be displayed.


From there it's a matter of trying to sort out the correct day.The odds are one in thirtyish I will get it right.

Last year or so, I forget when (where is my calendar again?) an angel gave me a weather station that tells the date and time too.  Last winter I was so confused because it said 31 in February, then I realized we were having a cold snap in Florida and that number must be the temperature.

My driver's license in the Virgin Islands had the wrong birthday. I was oh so confused and the hospital apparently used that to fill out my paperwork when I was admitted unconscious. So my medical  records are constantly hard to locate what with two different birthdays listed.

At the time I got the driver's license, which read November 4 instead of April 11,  the clerical lady laughed herself silly over the error, then informed me in all seriousness, they would correct my birthday NEXT time they issued my license (4 years later.)

I guess she saw the incredulous look on my face, but she cheerfully explained "This way you get to be younger for 4 years!"

A few months later, same island,  I went to get my little old rusty heap of a jeep inspected and tagged.  The officer works outside under a school bus shelter. When I arrived, he was sitting on a bench holding a clipboard full of sun yellowed papers and license tag stickers, along with a dozen first graders in tiny matching school uniforms. School was out for the day. The kids were waiting on the bus.

He pointed out a rusty spot on my jeep saying it needed to be covered up.  My car had a few dozen rusty spots popping out like zits at the time. I reached inside my jeep, felt around under the driver's seat, then emerged with some old Duck tape on a roll. I tore off a piece, slapping it over the lone rusty spot he had pointed at.

Two can play this game I thought. They don't care enough to correct my birthday on my driver's license but my little old rusty heap of a jeep can't have any rusty zits to get a tag. Such is the nature of quixotic island life.

The first graders were giggling and snickering while the bewildered officer scratched his head staring at my instant repair. One little boy asked me for a piece of Duck tape. I said "How long?"  He held up his tiny hand saying "That much!" His shoe was untied. He wadded  up the loose shoe strings, securely taping them to the top of his shoe. He seemed rather impressed with this feat.

The officer between his own guffaws said "Son, no no no, that's not how you do that!" The little kid smiled devilishly and said "I'm covering up a rusty spot!"

So with children shrieking with laughter, the officer asked me if I wanted to go dance on the beach and listen to the band at Quito's that night.

Am I in the twilight zone?

I eagerly agreed. Anything to get my jeep approved for a tag. I'd been to Quito's before and dancing on the beach at night was a favorite pastime for me in those days. Why own a TV or stereo (I had neither) when you can go out dancing barefoot on the beach?

Believe me, I am oh so glad these days, that I spent those days, doing such fun things when I was off work.

Ignoring the rest of my rusty zits, the officer went to apply the yearly dated sticker on my tag. He was so busy flirting with me that he just put it on there upside down, all the while smoothing it over good and hard so it could not be removed except by shredding it. (The stickers are designed to rip erratically so folks don't thief them.)

When I politely pointed this out to him, he roared with laughter. This is pretty typical of islanders and their approach to problems.

Laugh about it.

No problem mon.

Laugh some more.

So I drove around the island with an upside down date on my tag and the wrong birthday on my driver's license.

Life is goof!

One day fed up with the chronic rains that kept me inside too much, I decorated the broom closet for entertainment. Angels have given me various mermaids, it's fun to see them hanging around. 

1 comment:

  1. It is so wonderful t be able to look back and say I had a good time. Love you broom closet. Let me tell you it is larger than the bathroom I had in a 29' travel trailer. LOL

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