In Memory of Betty: The Betty Files: Baby it's Cold Inside

We recently had a week where, it seemed, everybody was dying. (That's a sentence that should bring in the readers!) I kid you not! Every time we turned around, someone that we knew, knew someone who died. Among those who passed, were my mother-in-law, age 88; and a friend, Betty, age 76.  They both had Alzheimer's and had strokes.  They both also were faithful followers of their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  We are comforted knowing that we will indeed see them again one day.

So, in Betty's memory, I have decided to re-post a couple blogs affectionately called "The Betty Files".  This is the first of two.  I hope you enjoy it.  She was quite a character.





 After discussing several prospective blogging titles, I was assured by my personal blogger advisor, that I should definitely go with the one I am about to discuss.  "Just make it funny", was the remainder of the advice.  So, I will do my  best.

My dear friend, Betty, is always cold. "Just look at my hands."  She says this after saying "Just feel my hands", and placing her hands in mine, so I can, indeed feel how cold she is.  She continues, "My hands, they look like white bones. Just look at them."  She continues this conversation for several more minutes.

Maybe I should digress a little to explain exactly why she is here on a regular basis.  She has lived much of her life in and around Wooster, so most of her family is here, namely her "little mother." Her mother is now in a local nursing home with Alzheimer's. Several years ago, her husband found work in Florida, so they moved there.  He lost that job a few years ago, and now works in Wisconsin, but they still have their place in Florida. Anyway, maybe that was unnecessary information, but he flies her back here about every six weeks or so, in order for her to be with her mother.  She usually stays with us.

Anyway, the last few times she has been here, she laid claim to my terry cloth robe.  It's the shorter style, and has a hood on it, which she tells me, she likes to pull up over her head when she sleeps because it keeps her so much warmer. Now I just leave it back in "her room" so she can have ready access to it.

And now, a word about me.  I am currently in the fun phase of my life, called menopause.  Being in menopause makes your body do some weird stuff.  For one thing, my internal temperature regulator has gone berserk!  I am either freezing, or sweating.  So, in order to stay somewhat comfortable, I have several sweaters lying around.  Brrrrr, I'm cold.  On goes the sweater.  Arrrrggg. Man, is it HOT in here.  Off goes the sweater.  I don't even know how many times a day that occurs. So, I try never to be too far from my sweater.

The other day, I was wearing my yellow sweater, and Betty commented on what a nice sweater it was.  "Yes, it's handy to have around," I say, pulling it off due to a hot flash, and draping it around the kitchen chair.  "Oh, that is a very nice sweater", she repeats, while running her hand over it, and admiring it.  We talk a little more, then get busy with other things.  Later, in the evening, during a cold flash, I'm looking for my sweater, and can't find it.  It's not completely unusual that I can't find something, but usually, after looking under blankets or coats, I can locate it.  However, my  yellow sweater was no where to be found, so I pulled out my black sweater.

The next morning when Betty walks into the kitchen, I notice she is wearing my(her) white robe, and around her shoulders is draped my yellow sweater.  (Ohhhhhhh, that's where it got to, I say to myself.)  She proceeds to tell me how warm she is, except for her "bone white hands".  I'm glad she was able to stay warm, and mentally accept the fact that I will not be seeing my yellow sweater for the remainder of her visit.

The following day, as I was getting ready to leave the house and go grocery shopping,  my black sweater appeared to be "missing".  I left the house, did my shopping, and got back home.  There was Betty, fully dressed, and wearing my black sweater, underneath another vest.  She makes no apologies (none are needed), and says, "I just "found" this nice sweater.  It goes with my outfit better, don't you think? (I assume she means, than the yellow sweater), and it's warm, too!"

She eventually discards my black sweater, and I nonchalantly pick it up and put it on. Luckily, I was having a well-timed cold flash!

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This feels a little scary, but I'm going to make another attempt to re-start blogging. The last time I made that statement was in 2013!  Yikes! I'm feeling a little rusty, and know I will have to relearn everything I thought I knew about blogging.  It's a frightening thought. (Especially since my official blog adviser doesn't live here anymore. I will have to actually figure everything out on my own!) Bear with me, please.

So, Hubby and I have recently celebrated 36 years of wedded bliss.  Where did he take me, you ask? To a bar. An out-dated, old bar, out in the middle of nowhere.  Why, for heaven's sake?  Because on Fridays, they have the best "all you can eat" fried fish! And, normally, we don't even like fish.  I suggested on Friday morning that we go out for fish after I got home from work that evening.  He thought it was a good idea. (Secretly, I wanted to see if he would claim it for our anniversary dinner, knowing he would!)  When we arrived, the place was packed.  There were two empty chairs at the bar, so that's where we sat.  When the guy sitting beside Hubby left, he passed over the TV control to Hubby.  After surfing the channels and finding nothing appealing, he found "The Andy Griffith Show", and that's where it stayed.  You won't find that show playing in too many bars!

Halfway through the meal, Hubby said, "By the way, Happy Anniversary!"  And, I said, "I knew you would claim this for our anniversary! Happy Anniversary to you, too!" After we finished eating, we waddled ourselves out to the car, complained about eating too much all the way home, waddled into the house, plopped on the couch, and watched some more episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show" on Netflix. And, who says "romance is dead"?  Not us!

(And I even remembered how to add pictures! woo hoo!)


 

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