Muffin tops and bubble cleavage

My middle-aged crisis came to an end with a whimper and a sigh.  I'm glad I'm finally over it. I'm getting older. So what? I'm not exactly thrilled with the wrinkles, age spots, and everything else that's going south, but I'm okay with it. It's the circle of life.

But now I have nothing. What can I blog about? Grandchildren? I don't have any. Although we do have a granddog who is adorable. But writing about a dog is just like showing too many grandchildren pictures. People's eyes tend to glaze over after a couple of hours. Maybe I could have a blog called The Geriatric Adventures. But I'm not quite yet to that stage either.

But I am going to have to start another blog. I don't have any other hobbies.

I think I'll keep this one but just change its title. It took me too long to bribe 18 people to sign up as followers. My sidebar shows 17 but there is another one who signed up as anonymous. (Who are you, by the way?)  And I did have a creepy guy from Germany that I had to block. I did a little investigation and his Facebook timeline picture showed decomposed bodies swept up on a shore. Disturbing, to say the least.

I know I have more followers who read my blog, but none who officially want to come forward. Why is that?

Anyway, I was lying in bed this morning thinking about what I was going to wear to the family reunion today. And, I just had to share. So, the retirement of my blog lasted for just one week.

I really need summer tops. All I have in the closet right now are the size of hankies. I had been buying my clothes at Gap. Everything they sell there is 100 percent cotton. I'm really bad about forgetting that fact when I throw them in the dryer.

So I went to buy some shirts yesterday. It wasn't a good experience. If you've shopped recently, you may have noticed that the shirts in style right now are skinny, clingy, threadbare, and have scooped-out bust lines. Unless you're built like an ironing board with two raisins for breasts, you're going to look really bad.

For one, these shirts cling and accentuate the fluff around your midsection and any back fat you may have. They are so tight that people see that your bra has three prongs. Worse, though, is the four inches of cleavage showing.  The fact that cleavage is four inches says something about middle-aged cleave. It's long. Plus, it gets lopsided and you have to do a lot of adjusting. Not at all attractive.

Why in the world are these shirts popular right now? Even teenage girls look bad in them.  I've been noticing some serious muffin tops and breast spillage out there. Good grief. I'm not a guy, but I have a hard time not staring. Where do you look? I feel sorry for hormonal teenage boys. But then there are so many breasts exposed that maybe they've become desensitized. Bare breasts are no longer a novelty.

True, you can wear a camie under the top. But the camies I've found all have scooped necklines too and just make your middle section look fluffier.

Is there is such a thing as clothes that are "youthfully mature," I'd like to find them. I'm open to suggestions. Meanwhile, I'm going to the reunion today. I hope noone notices I'm wearing a hankie.

The good that comes

Dave, his junior year in high school

The last three weeks have been a blur and often emotional as Dave recovers from his surgery. But some wonderful things have been happening. Who knew that brain surgery could be a good thing?

The first days in the hospital were rough. Dave's eyes moved back and forth crazily. He saw everything as overlapping or moving. He didn't have balance and was unable to walk. But each day he slowly improved until he was able to move to the rehab unit.

There he was surrounded by an army of therapists--physical, occupational, speech, and recreational.  We learned that the brain, if given the right stimuli, over time is capable of creating cells and neurons to find new pathways, even years after an injury. His therapists are working with him to improve his balance, coordination and eyesight.

What has surprisingly been the most helpful has been speech therapy. Initially, we wondered why he'd even need it--his speech was fine. But speech therapy really focuses on the cognitive and communicative.


Dave has the ball, freshman year

In the 70s when Dave had his brain surgeries, he was given physical therapy but never really helped with the cognitive effects of his injury.  He was sent home with a brochure and essentially told good luck.

Dave has compensated for the physical; most people aren't even aware of his challenges. But it is the communication and cognitive part that is most difficult to understand or explain to people. It is the invisible piece of a traumatic brain injury.

Dave told noone about his struggles.  He couldn't articulate something that he didn't fully understand himself. Because the brain has to compensate for the injury, his response time is delayed. When there is too much stimuli (like when he is in a group of people with everyone talking at once) all he hears is static. People have misunderstood him as being antisocial or angry, when in reality he is neither.

When Dave entered the rehab unit, he was relieved finally to be around people who "got it." He didn't have to explain himself or what was going on inside his head. They understood the mechanics of how his brain worked. And they helped him understand it.

To me, I always felt that there was a puzzle piece about Dave that I was missing. It was difficult for me and our family to understand him. Now things make sense. We're both making adjustments in how we communicate with one another. We wish that he would have been given the opportunity for this kind of therapy years ago.

God, truly, has been working all things together for good. These weeks have been healing for Dave. He said it's as if a huge burden has been lifted from his shoulders, a burden he has been carrying around for almost 40 years. He says he's at peace.

I feel like I've been healing too. I've finally graduated from my midlife crisis. I'm content and looking forward to the next chapter of our lives.

Since I no longer have my midlife crisis to write about, I'm retiring this blog. Maybe some day I'll start another one. I may have to call it The Geriatric Adventures.

P.S. If you're new to my blog, you can find more posts in the archives. You can look them up by the months they were written. My favorite and funnier posts were the ones which I wrote earlier. Thanks for reading the blog!. I enjoyed writing it. Blessings...

Glad for the rollercoaster

I got up at four this morning after popping an Ambien and crawling into my own bed at midnight. Four straight hours of sleep and not being jack knifed in a hospital vinyl chair is a blessing. Shouldn't be blogging, should still be sleeping.  But my body and mind won't let me sleep any longer. Plus I need coffee. That addiction can be a curse.


Dave, just before being called to surgery

So here goes. I'm going to blog but try to keep it short and get ready for another day at the hospital with Dave.

We were elated when Dr. Marsh met us after the surgery was done with no complications.  The tumor was removed without damaging the nerves.

Dr. Marsh said that after Dave fully recovers, he should be as good as he was prior to surgery. I passed the good news on to the prayer chain and posted it on Facebook.

But reality kicked us when we finally were able to see Dave after he got to the ICU. The surgery may have gone well but it was still major brain surgery.We couldn't hold back tears seeing him, his head wrapped and his eyes unable to focus.

It is evident now how serious his brain injury was from years ago. His ability to compensate has been stripped. It's like he has to start all over again. Dave has two new impairments--double vision and loss of feeling on one side of the face. But the doctors are confident that those impairments are temporary and will get better after the swelling goes down.

They say crying is good, that you shouldn't hold back. That crying helps. I don't think it always does. At least, not after you've cried yourself to the point of dehydration. I wish I could turn off the faucet, but I can't. I hurt to the core for Dave, not only for what he is going through now, but what he's already been through and has been dealing with all these years. It breaks my heart that I didn't fully understand and wasn't more patient.

People's words on Facebook have been so kind and encouraging. We've heard from friends we haven't seen for over 20 years. I've reconnected with some of Dave's extended family who live in California and we rarely are able to see.

I posted that first night after surgery that it was rough and it was going to be a roller coaster. Dave's niece, Jamie, who lost her Dad (Dave's brother) to cancer several years ago, replied:

Aunt Jacci, I know it is hard right now and even though the surgery went well, recovery will take time and patience. It will be okay though. Just remember it would be worse if there were no roller coaster left to ride!

Jamie, thank you. It was exactly what I needed to hear. Dave's still here. We have our friends and family. We have the Lord.  We're not alone. We'll ride it out together. It's going to be okay.

Dave

In a week, Dave is having brain surgery. That tight ball of anxiety with which I'm so familiar is not there. Somehow it seems wrong. If there was ever a time to worry, this would be it.  I wonder if it's peace. Or if it's a denial mechanism.

Dave, as a freshman.

I guess I've gotten to this place from being married to Dave for 25 years. I've never once heard him say that he's worried. Concerned, yes. But not worried. He shrugs off the small stuff. And it's all small stuff compared to what he's been through.


The course of Dave's life changed when he was 17. He grew up in California. A gifted athlete, he was the star running back on his high school football team. By the end of his junior year, colleges were already looking at him including Penn State and West Point.  During football practice his senior year, he began having severe headaches and blurred vision.

The doctors thought the headaches were caused by being worn down from mono combined with the effects of multiple concussions playing football. He went to an optometrist to have his eyes checked. The optometrist examined him and sent him to a neurologist that same day.

He had a brain tumor growing around his optic nerve. He had surgery to remove what was a benign meningioma. He began recovery and was hoping to finish out the football season.

But the headaches returned. Another tumor had grown in the cerebellum, the area that controls balance and coordination. He underwent a second surgery. And then another emergency surgery after he started convulsing. His brain was swelling and hemorrhaging. One-third of the right hemisphere of his brain was removed. A fourth reparatory surgery was done to place mesh where the brain tissue was removed.

The doctors said he wouldn't ever be able to walk again. Dave's incredibly stubborn. Tell him what he can't do, and he'll set out to prove you wrong.

Dave had been the golden boy. The once star athlete had to relearn how to walk, talk, and write with his left hand instead of his right. The simplest tasks required intense concentration to compensate for traumatic brain injury. Playing sports was no longer an option. He finished the school year at home with a tutor. At graduation, he walked down the aisle assisted by his brother, Mike, at his side.

In his brokenness, he turned his life over to God. He spent the next five years rehabilitating himself to the point he was able to start classes at the community college and hold a job.

I met him several years after this. I admired his faith and how he had overcome adversity. He was good for me. He was the only guy who wouldn't put up with my flakiness. He told me, "I don't have time for this." We were married eight months later.

After we had Amber, we moved to Minnesota. We started working at Mayo; Dave started  to be seen by Neurology. A scan showed a small tumor, most likely residual tissue left from previous surgeries. Since it was small and wasn't growing, it was decided to monitor it with yearly scans. Each year the MRI showed that the tumor had not grown.

But we both felt like we were living with a time bomb. One year Dave's regular neurologist wasn't available. He saw another doctor, a soft-spoken man from India who was about to retire. I expressed my fears. He gave wise advice that I have hung onto ever since. "Leave here, enjoy your life and don't worry. You could live worrying about what may never happen, and you will have lived in fear needlessly. If he does one day need surgery, we will help him, but you will have lived through the experience twice."

Matthew 6:34 says this and has special meaning,"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Seven years ago he did get another tumor, this time in his spine. He underwent a fifth neurosurgery. Meningiomas are the most common type of brain tumor. They are almost always slow growing and don't grow back when removed. Dave's are atypical, fast growing and which often reoccur in other parts of the brain or spine. The spinal tumor grew back in six months and was treated with radiation.

Six weeks ago, an MRI showed he had two brain tumors; the original one having tripled in size. He is scheduled for surgery May 29th. We are grateful to be at Mayo. What are the odds that this California boy would end up in Minnesota working for Mayo which is rated number one in the country for Neurosurgery?

There is risk for further impairment, although Dr. Marsh says the risks are low and he will do his utmost to avoid damaging the surrounding brain tissue.

We have relative peace. I enjoy my days not thinking too much about what's ahead. When I do tell someone about Dave's surgery I get emotional. Mainly because I'm grieved that Dave has to go through this again. I so hope and pray he comes out with no further impairments.

The hardest part about brain injury is being misunderstood. Until you know what he's been through, Dave can come across as abrupt as he compensates for the part of his brain that's missing. He has many physical limitations but has compensated so well that it is often too subtle to detect.  Every day is a struggle.

He has persevered where most people would have given up. He has never wavered from his faith.  He's one of the most unpretentious guys I've met.  He unapologetically tells it like it is. He has a dry sense of humor that's hilarious. He's an amazing guy.

Despite its ups and downs, our lives have been rich with blessings. We have three beautiful kids,  supportive family and friends, a wonderful church home, and a God who is always near.  Whatever lies ahead, we'll deal with it, praying, being grateful for the blessings, and allowing God to use our circumstances for good.

Our beautiful family.

Post-prom-partum

Dave in blue velvet.

Landon's prom was last night.  He came home this morning after the post-prom party saying he had fun at the dance busting out his moves.

It was Landon's first prom.  For Dave and me, it was the fifth time going to the prom's grand march to see our kids on stage.

The grand march is held in the gym prior to prom. The guys are decked out in tuxes; the girls in beautiful evening gowns.

When we went to prom, the girls wore Gunne Sax, cotton dresses with lots of lace. In retrospect, they were a little dorky.

 

Me in my Gunne Sax.

You have to get to the gym early to get a good spot. Doesn't matter when I get there; I always pick the wrong place. I end up crawling on my hands and knees crouched between aisles to take a picture. I have yet to get one good picture at any grand march. The same thing with graduation. Either the picture is a blur or it's too dark. The worst part is I miss the momentous occasion trying to take a picture of it.

Landon and Josee

This is our last child. I'm going to get a good picture. We arrive early. I sit next to the middle aisle. I figure I'll be right there to take a picture when Landon and his date walk by.

The emcee comes out, welcomes everyone, and explains how the couples will descend the stage and walk around the outside of the aisles. Drat. I'm in the wrong spot. Again.

There are seven pages listing the order of couples' names. Landon and his date's names are on the sixth. I count off each page before Landon's name is called. Finally it gets to page six.

I crawl down the middle aisle. I practice getting the best angle on the three couples ahead of Landon and his date. And then their names are announced. They come through the arch on stage.

I raise my camera and press the button. Nothing. I try again. The screen freezes with the words "Internal memory full."  I can't believe it. I frantically try to delete pictures to restore memory to take just one picture.

I'm missing watching Landon and Josee descend the stage. They reach the floor. I am kneeling on the floor directly in front of them. I give Landon a little wave. Landon looks down at me, smiles and nods.  I raise my camera and pretend to take a picture.

And then they're gone.

I don't know why, but I'm always left with this little ache in the back of my throat the night of prom. There is all this flurry of activity helping your son or daughter get ready. You tell them to be safe and have fun. And then they leave. And you stay behind. With your camera filled with blurred images.

I feel better when Paige texts me later that she feels a little sad for some reason too. She remembers her own proms. And now her little brother is at prom, handsome and all grown up.  She just wants to give him a hug.

Landon will be a senior next year. He's our youngest. There will be just one prom and graduation left. I'm not taking any pictures. I'm going to sit back, soak it all in, and just watch.

Amber and Paul

Matt and Paige

P.S. Notice there are no pictures of the grand march. If anyone got one of Landon, let me know.

The luxury of a nervous breakdown

Two years ago I had a meltdown that was a long time coming.  It was on the heels of four years of various trials. Some were the normal stresses that people experience if they live long enough--minor health problems, the challenges of raising teenagers, caring for aging parents. And there was serious stuff too.

Things eventually settled down. When everything should have been good, I went into a funk that wouldn't leave. I had bouts of depression before, but this was the worst. I slogged through every day and, for the life of me, couldn't think of a thing I was looking forward to. I focused on just getting through five minutes at a time. Spiritually I bottomed out. While I once had been passionate about the Lord, I now felt wooden.

What was my problem anyway?  I figured it was a luxury to have a nervous breakdown, feeling guilty that I didn't have anything to be depressed about. Other people suffered real tragedy. All that I was suffering from was a midlife crisis and selfishness.

When you're depressed the last thing you want is to be around people. But it's the thing you need most. I credit my friend, Terri, for dragging me out for coffee. She'd make me laugh.  Every day I talked to LaDonna, a friend who lives in Washington, who distracted me from my inward angst. My sister, Vicki, who is younger, took the role of big sister and would check in with me, letting me talk and cry  Friends at church, who didn't know what was going on but just knew I wasn't myself, gave me hugs and encouragement.

Dave, at a loss, would tell me I was going to be okay and stepped up with housework. I felt sorry for Landon, the remaining child at home who was trapped with a mom who was an emotional wreck.  It couldn't have been easy for him.

It was obvious even to to me that I needed medical help. I went to our family doctor and balled and balled. She gave me the depression test. It was no surprise that I scored at the top as severely depressed.  She referred me to Psychiatry. With my first appointment, I was diagnosed correctly and was put on two little pills that prevented me from ending up in a corner, wild eyed and licking my lips.

It took awhile getting off the bipolar express, but eventually my whacked-out brain chemistry evened out. I started feeling better. The turning point was when Amber got engaged. My girls both said, "Mom, now you have something to look forward to."

I stayed busy for the next months helping plan the wedding. The day of the wedding was glorious. It's hard to describe the feelings you have seeing your little girl walking down the aisle on her father's arm. While Paul and Amber took communion, I felt such abundant grace. I had been richly blessed by people who loved me through to the other side of a dark time. Life was good again. I felt joy.

With Terri, who keeps me laughing.

P.S. I think most women have times of depression. Depression can be situational, hormonal, spiritual, or biological. In my case it was a combination of all these. Get help if you have depression that is persistent. You're not alone.

What's helped me kick depression to the curb is blogging, laughing with friends and family, not taking myself too seriously, and exercising regularly. And taking those two terrific little pills every day.

Blessings, Jacci

Resurrecting granny

I have an old school three-speed bike that I bought used years ago from our bike repair man. I call it my granny bike.  It's perfect for me: tall with 27-inch tires, sturdy but not clunky, and comfortable with a nice wide seat for my nice wide seat.

I've done a lot of errands with my granny bike. I have a bag with Velcro strapped onto the handle bars. It holds my wallet, cell phone, water bottle, and even the occasional carton of eggs. When I'm riding around town, I've been told I look very much like Miss Gulch on the Wizard of Oz riding away with Toto.

Photo courtesy of http://www.freeimagespot.com/

But in the last few years I've pushed granny bike beyond the limits of town. I've ridden her on the bike trail that runs through the rural countryside on what used to be an old railroad track. There's various wildlife along the way. On more than one occasion I've gotten attacked by dive-bombing red-tailed black birds that nest in ditches along the trail. And once I veered off the path into the ditch trying to avoid a badger.

I've also taken granny down the Elba bluff to Whitewater State Park. The first time I attempted the bluff run, I got passed by men on race bikes with numbers pinned to their chests. I tried to ignore the snickers as I labored back up the hill on my granny three-speed in the middle of a men's bicycle race. To my credit, I didn't once get off and walk.

Granny and I've had a few accidents.  I admit one time it was because I was checking a text. (I know. I heard about it from my kids when I got home.) 

Our last crash was when I took our dog, Ozzie, on a ride with me holding onto his leash. This was a very bad idea. Ozzie ran in front of the bike, I braked hard and and sailed over the handle bars, planting my face into the pavement. I broke a piece off my cheek bone, and Granny has never quite been the same, not quite as perky. But then neither am I.

I now have a newer bike, a fancier one with 18 gears. I am thinking about doing a duathlon with it this year.

But Granny is still my favorite bike. She's like a dear old friend. I still take her out to ride across town for old time's sake. After all we've been through, I'd feel like a traitor putting her down. 

Update, July 17, 2022. Well, I am finally going to say goodbye to dear old granny. I haven't ridden bike for a couple of summers now. Both bikes had flat tires, and it was easier just to walk. Landon resurrected the 18-gear bike, so it's his now. I found a smooth-sailing men's 10-speed, circa the 1980s like Granny. It was a good price and has brand new tires, reason enough to get it. Dave said there isn't room in our garage for another bike, so it is Granny that has to go. I feel kind of nostaligic, sad even. That bike got me through my mid-life crisis and helped me lose 40 pounds (10 years later I've gained half back, but I'm okay with that. I'm a granny myself now, and my grandkids happen to like the extra cushioning). Maybe my old men's bike will get me through old age. Or until I have to purchase a trike. Whatever comes first. 

Bill and Shirley at this season


Tomorrow I take Mom to the hospital for knee replacement surgery.  A little risky since she has a-fib and is on blood thinner for blood clots. No matter. She acts like she's going to a party.

Mom at Amber's wedding

A picture of herself she sent to Bill when he was in Korea. She wrote on the bottom, "I'm still a little girl at heart."

Tonight I helped her get ready to leave early in the morning. I'm her coach for pre- and post-surgery. Kind of like going to birthing classes, we did an hour of instruction to prepare. We get to wear matching t-shirts for her stay in the hospital. And the hospital loans each of us an i-pad while we're there. Not a bad gig.

Right now Mom and dad live in an apartment at Greenprairie Place, an assisted living facility.  Mom loves living there. She so social, she's in her glory. She's on different social committees and is in a book club and Bible study. She writes for the newsletter, interviewing and doing feature stories on incoming residents.

While she recovers from surgery, she and Dad will live at the nursing home. Dad moved there last week so he'd be adjusted before Mom goes to the hospital.

Mom and I went over to the nursing home side to visit Dad tonight. It took awhile to get there since Mom kept stopping to schmooze with each resident. She knows everyone. She stayed there a few years ago after she had a head injury from a bad fall. The staff love her. Joey, the night duty nurse, told her they're all looking forward to having her around again. She's their success story. (She recovered and made it out of there.)

Dad as a young boy on the farm.

I'm hoping that the nursing home will again be a temporary stay for my parents. I don't know though. It's getting harder and harder for my dad. Even though he has home health at Greenprairie, it's becoming more and more difficult for him as his body is failing and his memory is going.

I know a lot of old people when they have dementia get stubborn and mean. It's the opposite for my dad. He's become more tender and grateful. He's just pleasantly confused.

Mom, who is mentally all there but has a few health problems, is breezing through this season of life. She's one of the happiest and most joyful people I know.

No matter the outcome of Mom's surgery tomorrow, all will be well. I am more blessed than I deserve to have Bill and Shirley as parents. They have lived their lives well. I hope I can be like them when I grow up.

Nosing out Ethel

A bunch of us did the Corn on the Cob 5K last summer. We all finished with varying results. I kept up a respectable pace with the women in my age group. And a couple got first and second in their age categories. Not too shabby. 


I've done a few races just for fun. I'm resurrecting this post about my first race from my blog, Losing It, http://jacci-clark.blogspot.com/. It's one of my favorites. If you didn't catch it the first time around, enjoy....


Signing up to do our first race was LaDonna's idea. We found one: The Rochester Women's Track Club Four-Mile Run--two laps around Silver Lake. LaDonna was pumped. I was dubious. We hadn't been running for all that long, and I still sucked air after two blocks.


The day of the race it was 96-degrees with drenching humidity. I felt a little sick when we pulled up to the race site. There were women milling around like race horses at the starting block. They looked like real runners, hard-bodied and wearing color-coordinated  spandex and running shoes. We were wearing our husbands' gym shorts, baggy t-shirts and cross-trainers.

We stood in line to check in and get our race numbers and then joined the others to stretch. I didn't know too many stretches so I just did a few neck  rolls. An older woman was stretching her leg above her shoulder. The front of her t-shirt read 86-year-old bungee jumper. Her name was Ethel and she was now 87. I hoped that I could have her legs when I was her age. Heck, I wished I had her legs now.


Over the megaphone it was announced that it was time to begin. We walked up a short hill to the starting line. I saw there were a few men in the group. Must be husbands seeing their wives off. But then I noticed an outline of a bra under one of the husband's t-shirts. Oh, crap. They weren't husbands; they were women racers. I started to panic--we should have known. This was a track club, for crying out loud. These were elite runners. We were in serious trouble.

All 45 racers began to line up behind the starting line. LaDonna and I pushed our way to the front, figuring we'd take every advantage we could. I felt like I had to pee, but it was too late. It was time to do this. At the shot of the gun, I bolted. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. I was ahead of the pack. I felt like a track star. For 10 seconds. And then I started sucking air. The remainder of the race it was one woman after another passing me. My side started to ache, and I felt a painful pulse in my head. It was so stinking hot. This was all LaDonna's fault.


I counted off each step with This...Was...A...Big...Mistake. Don't...Ever...Listen...To...LaDonna...Again. Where was she anyway? I glanced back. She was keeping stride with Ethel. LaDonna didn't look so good. The other contenders started giving advice as they passed us. "Breathe in through your nose; out through your mouth. Drink at the next station. Only one more time around the lake." Are you kidding--another lap? I…Am…Going…To…Die…Today.


LaDonna was whimpering halfway into the second loop of the lake. "Jacci, I...gasp...can't make...gasp...it. I'm not kidding. I'm going to have to...gasp...quit.." I gasped back, "Oh, no you don't. You got me into this; you're finishing it. Besides, you don't have a choice. You still have to get around the lake to the van."


We shuffled side by side. Ethel was gaining on us at the last turn. Racers were at the finish line waiting for the three of us and cheering us on. "Come on, finish strong. You're almost there!" We pushed hard, nosing out Ethel at the end.  LaDonna collapsed on the curb, still whimpering. I started laughing uncontrollably. Delirium, I guess.


We had finished the race. And, we weren't last. I placed 43, LaDonna 44, and Ethel finished strong in 45th place. Since Ethel was the only one in her age category--80 and above--she got a trophy. LaDonna and I received cool purple participation t-shirts, proving that we were real runners.
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We did it! 2011 Corn on the Cob 5K

Living on the Cheap

When our kids were little, we lived on a pretty tight budget so that I didn't have to work full-time.

I pinched every penny. Canning and freezing veggies from the garden, baking bread, making yogurt. I faithfully went to garage sales and made cost comparisons: using cloth napkins versus paper, buying the store brand instead of using a coupon with a brand name. (Cloth beat out the paper and buying generic was usually less than using coupons.) I washed and reused just about anything--sandwich baggies and aluminum foil.

I was a hard core tightwad.

But as passionate as I was about being thrifty, I had my limits. Some tightwad tips were just too nasty to consider--whether they saved a buck or not:

• Reusing tissues from a crate of peaches for toilet paper. I had an aunt who did this. She stuffed them in an empty coffee can for company to use. My guess is it took a whole peach crate for just one visit to the john.
• Using a menstrual cup. When a friend told me about this, I was horrified there was such a thing. She claimed it saved a ton of money and was good for the environment. I don't know how it works, nor do I want to. All I picture is schlepping around some public restroom rinsing out the cup. Uggghhh. Sorry, but there are a few advantages of living in this century. Feminine products and toilet paper are at the top of my list.
• Making pudding pops with empty deoderant sticks. No kidding. I don't know how many people have actually tried this, but it was one of the tips from The Tightwad Gazette. "Hey, kids, you want a push-up? We got Secret, Dial or No Spice in the freezer."

Any of you know of any worse tightwad tips than these?

I'm no longer an extreme tightwad. I work full-time now.  I can say I don't have the time, but truth is, I've just gotten lazy. I have to say, we had more money when we had a meager income and I washed out sandwich bags.

Photo from http://www.dreamstime.com/hand-collecting-cent-coins-imagefree3710094