Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives 2024 #Potluck – #Life #Passportphotos- Two Things Happened – One Was Fire, The Other Rain by Cheryl Oreglia

Welcome to the series of Posts from Your Archives and I will be sharing posts from the SECOND six months of 2023 from your archives.

This current series is now closed to submissions but there will be a new series to participate in later in the year.

This is the first post from author Cheryl Oreglia where she shares the indignities of passport photos and not sticking to the small print…..having recently had new driving licence and medical cards with a photograph that should have ‘wanted dead or alive’ above it… I can relate. Cheryl is offline at the moment but will be back soon to respond to your comments…

Two things happened – One was Fire, the other Rain

“If we could see our memories in advance, would we do anything differently?” From the movie What Happens Later, written by Meg Ryan.

Larry and I were on a walk a few mornings ago. It was early, 8:30 a.m., well earlyish for retirees. The sun was up, the birds were tweeting (not for Elon), and the trees along the streets were just starting to turn from green to an array of enchanting colors—be gentle with the colorful ones because they’re about to fall.

Of course, it had me considering why people don’t have the same metamorphosis as we enter the winter of our lives. It’s strange how we pale and shrink instead of turning some dazzling color and graciously gathering at the base of a tree with all our colorful friends. If I were to describe old people (I realize I’m living on the edge of this category), I would use the same expression: colorful.

Maybe the branch from whence we come decided to make us luminous instead so we could find our way home. Who knows?

In the meantime, while we’re still green, Larry is entirely dependent on my appetite as a stimulus for his personal agenda, which is vast (my appetite, not his agenda) but scaled to my size. I’m 5’8 and a quarter, and although shrinking in stature, I might still be growing in girth. It happens after two cruises.

See, to get me to walk, he dangles breakfast in front of my nose, and after our shared pot of coffee is empty, I’m more than ready to get up and go. At the very least, there will be coffee in my future. He usually pitches an empanada after a three-mile hike along the creek trail or a shared breakfast bagel at Bagle Boys, located in the shopping center less than a mile away.

The trouble is the bed.

Or I should say, getting me out of bed. I like to linger, you know, sit there with a computer in my lap, trying to channel Nora Ephron. Sometimes, she shows up, and sometimes she ghosts me. Get it?

Anyway, I eventually throw on sweats, slip into my tennis shoes, and slap on some sunscreen. I do not know why I still worry about my skin. It is wrinkled, and I assume it’s going to continue to do so regardless of the amount of creams I slather on my epidermis. Isn’t it nice to be in our sixties, unphased by what the world thinks, daring to expose our imperfections without remorse?

I’d like to pretend I’m that evolved, but I’m not, and the image above is mortifying. Of course, the culprit will eventually be exposed.

I’m just glad you asked.

So, after Larry beguiled me out of my warm bed with the promise of a bagel sandwich, we marched towards our favorite bagel shop with vigor. Let me describe our alluring impetus. The sandwich includes a thick sausage patty, melted pepper jack cheese, greasy hashbrowns, and an egg cooked to perfection. That might seem like a lot, but we split it, and I ALWAYS take the smaller half because I’m sweet on him.

It’s the best damn breakfast sandwich around, bar none.

We’re sitting there, not speaking because we’re inhaling our delightful sandwich when I spot an advertisement for pumpkin spice cupcakes in the window of Nothing Bundt Cakes, right next store to the bagel shop.

I couldn’t help myself (this might have something to do with my growth spurt).

I went over straight away and ordered a dozen for pick up in an hour. See, today is Halloween. I plan on treating my grandkids, the neighbors, and whoever else might show up for the driveway celebration tonight, which Debbie and Ron host every year. We form a circle of chairs in the curve of their driveway, set up a table for appetizers (there might be wine involved), and hand out candy to the kids who are trick-or-treating along our street.

But I digress.

So after ordering the pumpkin-spiced cupcakes, Larry says, “We have to remember to renew your passport before Connor’s (Larry’s godson) wedding in Sayulita (Mexico) this March.”

“We have plenty of time. I think it only takes a few weeks.”

“All I need is a passport photo, and I can send it off. I think Wallgreens does those photos, and it’s right across the street.” (See what’s going on here?)

Mistake number one, if anyone’s counting, I have this misperception about how I actually look at 8:30 in the morning after rolling out of bed and only brushing my teeth. All I can say is I’m not twenty anymore.

“Okay, let’s run over there before heading home.”

After fifteen minutes of waiting around the photo booth at Walgreens, we’re about to give up when we hear over the loudspeaker, “Customer needs assistance in Photo.” No shit Sherlock.

A young girl walks over, and we tell her I need a passport photo. She pulls down a white screen and says, “It’s better if we use your phone. It takes a more precise image than the Walgreens camera (that was my second mistake). Please stand on the line.” The line is a few inches in front of the white screen.

I do as I am told.

Of course, I’m desperately running my fingers through my hair when she says, “Please take your glasses off, and your hair has to be behind your ears.”

“Really? I look much better with it over my ears.”

“It won’t pass if your ears aren’t showing. And don’t smile.”

“Don’t smile? What the hell?” Now Larry and I are laughing hysterically like kids in a quiet church with the priest glaring at them. It’s not going well. Our photographer looks annoyed. To make matters worse, Larry is making rude gestures behind her back about my ears showing.

It’s a total shit show.

I really tried to comply. No smile, ears showing, glasses off. Then she says, “Your chin needs to be down a little, no more, less, just a little, okay, and turn slightly to your right, too much. Yes, good. Hold that pose.” Now I know what Christy Brinkley must have felt like when she was modeling. Bahaha. She snaps like seven shots and takes my phone over to the booth to process.

She slips the photos into a white envelope. We pay, and I don’t even look at them.

I’m sure they’re fine (my third horrific error in judgment).

After we get home, Larry squirrels away in the office for a spell, and before alerting me, he seals the application for passport renewal without my approval and slips it in the mailbox. Thank God, I would have tackled him in the hallway as if a Jitsu wrestler and thrown the entire package in the garbage. But alas, I did not; the photo above will be on my passport for the next decade. Oh, joy!

Let me update you on my other issue. If your coffee is cold, consider warming it up. Go ahead. This will wait.

Okay, it’s not enough that I’m fading, wrinkling, and shrinking, but I also have psoriasis, plaque psoriasis, to be exact. In my case, it presents as itchy, scaly liaisons on my lower legs. I’m the Job* of the 21st century, an innocent woman being tested by God, but in the end, I’m sure I’ll be vindicated. At least, that’s how the story goes in the Hebrew scriptures. In this case, the tribulation is the itch. My dad had it too, so it’s not really my fault, and by the way, it’s triggered by stress.

Stress, you might ask. I’m retired. What could possibly be stressing me out?

Upon returning home from weeks of travel, I had a minor flare-up, not my attitude, but my psoriasis. This is most likely due to the chlorinated water on the ships, and by the way, travel is more stressful than one might think, especially for introverts.

I tend to suffer, not in silence, but for long bouts of time without calling the doctor. It’s a thing. My sister has it too. It’s called white coat anxiety. So, after Larry threatened me with no more bagel sandwiches, I called the skin doctor and made an appointment.

It was the usual, show up on time with your favorite book, and wait in the lobby for no less than twenty minutes, not reading a word because the people coming in and out are so interesting.

When my name was finally called, and it was my turn to see the doctor, I slipped into the room and gave the nurse all the nitty gritty details about the lesions attacking my lower legs.

I even lifted my pants and showed her. She remained unphased.

Eventually, the doctor appeared in my room, and we chatted about the recent outbreak. I explain that we’ve been on a cruise, the treated shower water, and it appears my skin does not like it one bit.

I told him I could not get the medicine he originally prescribed because they’re no longer offering a coupon, and it’s $1,100.00 a tube. The two ointments they gave me as a replacement aren’t working. So, he prescribed a new lotion and sent me on my merry way.

As I leave, he says, “Rub a small amount over the sores, use it once a day, and we’ll see you in six weeks.”

This medicine comes with a coupon, which brings it down to $35.00 instead of $1,400.00.

After the first night, I didn’t notice any improvement.

I tell Larry, “It’s a really small tube, and I’m worried it’ll run out if I don’t use it sparingly.”

“Are you kidding? Slather that shit all over, we’re trying to get rid of this thing, and it’s only $35.00, we’ll get another prescription if we need it.”

“Okay, that makes total sense (my fourth mistake, I’m on a roll).” And I started using that medicine as if it was a mild lotion for sensitive skin. I broke protocol and used it twice a day if I felt the itch coming back.

“Good, let’s knock this thing out.”

Then something even stranger started happening. I started breaking out in hives all over the rest of my body. I know, it’s fun to be me. And I developed a strange cough.

After a night of itching, coughing, and intermittent sleep, I woke up in a foul mood. I complain to Larry, who says, “Call the damn doctor.” He wasn’t even nice about it.

“I don’t like to call the doctor.” I would rather itch myself to death. But it was really bad. So I called.

Ends up they were serious about those last-minute instructions—a light layer of lotion ONLY on the wounds, and only once a day.

This is my curated advice. When a doctor speaks in soft, quiet tones, shut up and listen. You’re welcome.

After correcting my usage, the hives calmed down but have not gone away. The itching has been reduced, but it’s the worst at night. I believe my attitude has improved, but no one has acknowledged the fact, so that’s pure conjecture. Apparently, you have to be patient (it takes a month before you see results), yes, both me and Job.

Patience is a learned behavior, and obviously, I need more practice.

If I could see my memories in advance? I’d brush my hair before leaving the house in the morning, put on tinted sunscreen, and make sure my ears were clean. I would also listen to my doctor, have patience for the process, and realize it was never just about Job, because Job is everyone.

We’re all suffering, striving to prove our invaluable worth in a judgmental world. We’re dealing with our own psychosis and strange ailments that seem to increase with age or struggling with issues that no one else can understand or fully comprehend. Let’s tread lightly with each other, give one another the benefit of the doubt, and trust that we’re all itching to be loved.

PS. My daughter Kelley sends me a text! She says, “Mom…what is this picture? It looks like a mug shot…Were you arrested? OMG, do I need to read your blog to find out?” Bahaha

I’m Living in the Gap, itching to join you in the comments. (sorry, not sorry)

©Cheryl Oreglia 2023

My thanks to Cheryl for inviting me to share her posts from 2023 and I know she would love to hear from you.

One of the reviews for the book

D.L. Finn 5.0 out of 5 stars A book that deserves to be read more than once.  Reviewed in the United States

“Grow Damn It!” is an insightful and often humorous collection of essays that blend into an amazing memoir. It was like I was sitting with an old friend having a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, and Ms. Oreglia was sharing life stories with some lessons weaved into them. Subjects varied, some light and some not, like the drive to the hospital after her son was in a car accident.

There was an adventure on a tandem bike, which intrigued me as I have always wanted to try it. I laughed at the silly comment they got over and over when they rode. Clear Lake, where they bought a second home, was beautifully captured. I spent a lot of time there as a child, and the essays made me re-live my memories. I appreciated the love of family plus an enduring marriage. The raw honesty was welcomed because things aren’t perfect all the time, but love is always there. We all need to learn life lessons and live life to the fullest.

This book captures living and reminds us that each day is a gift to enjoy and, on those certain days… survive. A book I felt on many levels. I highly recommend this collection. I know I will read it again and add it to my bookshelf. 

Read the reviews and buy the book –  Amazon US – Amazon UK –  – Blog: Cheryl Oreglia – Twitter: @CherylOreglia – Facebook: Chery Oreglia

About Cheryl Oreglia

Born and bred in the San Francisco Bay Area, Cheryl Oreglia hosts a lifestyle blog called Living in the Gap, which appears weekly as she corrals the time to write and reflect on the mundane. Oreglia says, “I do have a life outside of my head, and it squeezes between me and my keyboard like a frightened child. What can you do? On the surface, my life is common, I’m married with children, even grandchildren, a retired educator who lives for weekends at the lake, but just below the surface is a unique voice, one that I hope will resonate with you.” Grow Damn It, is a customized, over-the-hill, gritty, compassionate view of life. Oreglia says, “we’re not going to bloom where we are planted, we’re going to break the damn pot.”

Thanks for dropping in today and it would be great if you would click some share buttons on your way out…Sally.