Derma Wand: Miracle or Dud?

derma wand

Ok, so I admit it.  In my insomniac state, I lay awake watching the infomercials at 2 to 4 a.m..  I keep my purse with my wallet and credit card one floor down, making it seem less desirable to get out of bed so that I can order anything that I see advertised on t.v..  I’ve been good.  I haven’t fallen for anything until now.

Derma Wand the anti-wrinkle product.

Derma Wand the anti-wrinkle product.

After years of putting off having cataract surgery, I finally had both eyes done.  Bad move for seeing the imperfections that had grown upon my face and skin for those years.  A day or so after my first eye was done, I was ready to sue the surgeon…not because she had done anything wrong with my eyes but, because I could finally see what I hadn’t wanted to see….I’d aged that many years and more.

It’s been bothering me that for the past 10 or so years, I’d been thinking that I was looking younger and my anti-wrinkle creams had been working.  In actuality, the worse my eyes got, the younger I seemed to look.  Mind you, it was akin to looking at myself (or anything else for that matter) through a fogged glass.  The worse the cataracts got, the less detail I could see until had convinced myself that I’d truly gotten younger looking.

Facing the reality of things, I finally decided that short of a face lift, botox injections or other facial treatments, I was old. There was no doubting it.  Worst of all, what I hadn’t been seeing, everyone else was seeing.  Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Last night, at 3 a.m., I watched the same informercial for Derma Wand for the 14th time.  I wasn’t going to leap into buying something by phone where they try to talk you into about a half dozen other things that you don’t really need or want and require signing up for repeat sends until you cancel.  Ever try doing that?  Don’t have a job or a life because you’re going to need it to cancel whatever you’ve gotten yourself signed up for.  So, I didn’t fall for that.

This morning however, coffee in hand to try to wake up, I did some research.  There were mixed reviews but, the majority of them were positive in nature.  At worst, some reviews simply stated that it didn’t do a thing for them.  A few oddball posts on different forums said that they were “burned” but others were quick to quash those claims as nothing is supposed to get hot enough to “burn” any skin.

I’m not big on ordering off the net anyway but, I found a store that carries Derma Wand within about a 15 minute drive from me.  Not only did I find it at a lower cost because it didn’t come with an entire pile of lotions and potions that they try to sell in their kits but, I had it within a few hours because there was no shipping, customs and wait time involved.

I did get to try the product on my hand in the store as they had a demo model set up with the display.  The worst that I felt at the highest setting was a little tickling tingle.  I own a Dr. Ho machine and see a chiropractor who uses a much more powerful version of a Dr. Ho so, this was nothing to me.  At the lower settings, I felt nothing.  I bought it.  I paid $119.00 Cdn for it and bought the extended 3 year warranty for another $24.99, something I don’t usually do but, because it involves a glass tube through which whatever the mechanism is that does the work through, can be an issue if broken.

So, here I sit with the box in front of me, DVD on how to use it and a guide that they pack with the gadget.  They also included a lovely cheap pink pouch to keep it in and a tiny bottle of what seems like nothing more than KY Gel as a lubricant to help the wand glide over the skin.  They also suggest that you use your favorite moisturizer instead if you don’t like their “pre-treatment lubricant”.  I’m thankful that they don’t tell us that we have to buy their crap.

Once I have tried this and figure it all out, I will write more and explain what I have figured out so, hang in here and watch for further updates and more details on how this works.  The question is…is Derma Wand a miracle or a dud?  Stay tuned.

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The Holidays Missing A Loved One

It’s been awhile since I’ve last written in this blog.  Some of that is because it reminds me that my grandmother is gone and no longer writes this blog as she once tediously did.  The other part is that I don’t feel that I can do her justice by trying to carry on, telling her stories.  Only she lived them and could write them as she did. 

I remember watching her pecking out the letters, making mistakes and grumbling that she couldn’t type for beans, using explicatives that used to have even me, red faced and I’m no Spring Chicken myself. 

She’d compose her posts then, ask me to check them over, correct her grammar and post them for her, adding the tags. 

“I don’t know nothin’ bout those damned things,” she’d say with a wave of her hand.  “You just do what you gotta do to get ’em up there…however you damned well do it.” 

I’d laugh but, I rarely changed anything that she’d written or the way that she wrote it.  Her words were her and her stories were her stories.  What she wanted her readers to know, she said it the way she wanted them to hear it.  I left that alone, including the swear words and simply corrected the typos or the spelling. 

Unfortunately, not a lot of people ever read her words.  More people read my words about her passing than what she’d actually written.  She’d often ask, “how many people are reading what I wrote?”  I’d lie.  I’d tell her plenty of people were reading it.  “How many?” she’d ask with a demanding tone to her voice.  I’d lie again.  “About 50 or so,” I’d answer.  She seemed satisfied with that number.  Of course, her blog was new and she never got the hang of the idea that she had to like other’s blogs in order to get them to even know hers existed.  “It’s a game that bloggers play, Nana,” I’d explain. 

“I ain’t got time to read their stuff,” she’d answer with a scowl on her face.  “It’s all that I can do to stare at that blasted computer screen long enough to write what I write.  My arthritis is something awful and I can’t sit there much longer than what I do.  Too bad.” 

I loved that about her.  She was honest.  There was no guessing what she was thinking or feeling.  She’d tell you straight up what she meant and why.  If you pushed it, she’d ask you if you were deaf and end it right there and then.  There were no second chances.  You either got it or you didn’t. 

As the holidays approach rapidly, I am reminded daily that her presence at our dinner tables (yes, she ate several holiday dinners every year to please as many of us as she could), won’t be there…at least, not in physical form.  Yet, I know that she will forever be around us and I just may set her a plate anyway…at the Guest of Honor placement.  She’ll be complaining about the “damned dog trying to get up onto her chair,” but that’s ok, Nana.  We’ll keep her down from your chair.   

 

Just Being Honest & Older

Nana

There’s something to be said about aging.  You can say what you want and people will put it down to being “old”.

 

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Tawonda!! A La Kathy Bates In Fried Green Tomatoes

Maybe, I’m getting old too now?  Or, maybe, I’m just turning into Kathy Bates from the movie, “Fried Green Tomatoes”?  If you’ve never seen that movie, click the link and watch the 2 minutes worth of that scene.  It’s a “must” for all women over 50.

I had to ask myself those questions as I walked into a Tim Hortons this evening to grab a tea and had to fight my way through hordes of teens and twenty-somethings who hang around the parking lot like “mall brats” used to hang obnoxiously around a mall.

I recognize that kids need places to hang out and be together but, I’m finding my temper being rather short with some of them when they refuse to acknowledge that they’re not the only ones who would like to use the store.

It’s bad enough to not be able to find a parking spot because these kids are taking all of them up but, it’s really annoying to me now to have to wait while ten young ladies, crowd into the Ladies’ Room in a gaggle, putting on make-up, talking and turning the single bathroom into their own, personal spa.  There wasn’t a square inch in that bathroom, unoccupied and when they finally left it, you couldn’t walk for water, dropped paper towels, toilet paper all over the floors and water still running with a clogged sink.

Once I had my tea, I tried to find a table to sit at and go over some paperwork that I needed to go over before heading off again.  There wasn’t a table left empty.  They were all taken up by kids who were long since finished any form of drink or food (if they had ever bought anything at all).  Worse than that, they weren’t even conscious that their sudden, quick movements, had nearly knocked the scalding hot tea from my hands nor, had they given any apology when I yelled “ouch!”

After cleaning myself up with paper napkins, scarcely able to absorb more than a drop, I ambled over to the counter and asked one of the employees to please ask at least one table with two kids, hogging two chairs but, barely sitting in them and not eating or drinking anything, to vacate the table so that I may sit down for a few minutes.  The employee was less than helpful, fearing having to ask them to move and, leaving me to my own devices.

At that point, I felt more as like their grandmother than anything else as I approached them and politely asked, “if you’re finished with your table, would you mind if I sat here?”

I was ignored.

Giving them the benefit of the doubt, I asked the same question again…a little higher in volume this time.  Again, I was ignored.

On the third try, I had lost my cool totally and found myself standing rather obnoxiously and bluntly in front of the table, holding my tea out for them to see plainly and said, “listen, kids…you’re done your drink or whatever you’ve had, you’re not even sitting in those seats.  Please move somewhere else and let me sit down.”

Something unpleasant was mumbled and again, I was ignored while they went back to their loud, raucous voices and behaviour, swatting one another across tables.

The smart thing to do would have been to have simply left altogether but, something wouldn’t let me leave.  My temper had been irked by their total lack of respect for anyone, including themselves.  They were more like a band of untamed animals than human beings and that, was not sitting well with me.

Kicking one of the chairs aside as one of the kids leapt up to hit another in playhouse fashion, better suited for a boxing ring than a coffee shop, I watched the kid stumble and end up on the floor, while the rest laughed.

“Hey…Lady….you move my chair?” he asked, getting up embarrassed but, unhurt.

I ignored him.

“Hey…Lady…you did something to my chair,” he said, more loudly this time.

Again, I ignored him, still standing there with my tea in hand and papers in the other, staring at him, tapping my toe, lips pursed.

The employee, I had asked earlier, finally noticed the upheaval going on and came out from behind the counter, asking the kids to leave, telling them that they were loitering.  With unpleasant mumbles, they eventually left and I thanked the employee for his co-operation.

As I left the parking lot today, I noticed a pizza delivery guy, delivering a pizza to the parking lot for a group of kids, standing around their cars, blocking everyone else in or blocking them from getting out.  They fumbled for money in their pants but, not too quickly.  It was more like they had all of the time in the world and didn’t care what anyone else’s day might entail.

It was then that I thought of Kathy Bates and wanted to yell “Tawonda!!!”

I leaned on my horn and didn’t let up!

The pizza guy scurried back to his car, taking the pizza with him and peeling out of the parking lot, leaving the kids, cursing and swearing or “cussing” as my grandmother would have called it and, kept leaning on the horn, until those kids moved both themselves and their cars out of my way.

“You crazy old bitch!” one of the kids yelled as I started to pull out of the parking lot.

A La Kathy Bates’ Style, I rolled down the window and said, “face it, kids…you may have the time but, you’re going to learn to respect other people, one way or another.”

TAWONDA!!!

I swear I could hear my grandmother laughing for the next 10 minutes.

The Tree Fort

I wish that I could say that it was only yesterday that I was romping through my grandparent’s backyard, carefree and full of joy but, one look in the mirror, tells me that there have been a lot of yesterdays that have gone by since that time of my life.

Weekends were something that my brothers and myself used to look forward to because it meant that we’d be spending it with our grandparents.  Nothing could ever compare to the days and nights that we spent at their home and there’s so many times that I wish there were time machines that could transport us back to spend even one more hour in that time frame.

I don’t really remember why but, it seemed that our parents would go away frequently for the weekend.  Nothing tickled us pink more than to know that our weekends would be spent in a place that I can only describe as “heaven” for kids.

Friday after school, we’d pack up some clothes and our toothbrushes and be dropped off where Nana would be waiting with outstretched arms and huge welcoming hugs.  The smell of something yummy cooking on the stove or in the oven, would be wafting through the air to greet us as we entered the front door.  Somehow, we just knew it was going to be a great weekend from the second we stepped in.

Nana never said the word, “no” to us.  Even if she had to stop us from doing something that wasn’t good for us, she’d somehow manage to work our minds off of our troubled actions and onto something good.  We never felt like we were ever doing anything bad and yet, we’d know that we weren’t supposed to be doing one thing or another because she’d gently get our attention shifted with a simple, “let’s do this instead so that….” and fill in the blanks with a simple yet, gentle and effective reason.

Don’t get me wrong.  Nana wasn’t exactly totally gentle in her language in front of us.  She could sling some pretty good “cuss words” at our grandfather when she needed to but, never at us.

I remember one time where we were attempting to build a tree fort in an old elm tree that stood in their backyard.  We were dragging pieces of 2 x 4’s up into the tree with us and placing them across two outstretched branches to create a base on which we’d sit and drink ice cream floats, legs dangling over the side, looking down at the world.

The wind had picked up quite fiercely with heavy rain clouds above head, moving in and Nana spotted the change, urging us to abandon our pursuits for the evening.  When a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and a clap of thunder made us jump, rumbling through the tree we were in, we were only too happy to quickly climb down out of the tree and follow her suggestion.

For the next several hours, the skies lit up like a blinking neon sign as we sat safely indoors, looking out through their big front picture window (as they called it), munching on Cheesies and sipping on homemade root beer.

As the storm reached its peak, we all jumped as we heard the sound of a heavy thud and breaking glass at the back of the house.  We all ran to see what had happened, standing frozen with fear when we realized that the winds had picked up the 2 x 4 strips of wood from the tree branches and had come crashing down through our grandfather’s greenhouse glass roof!

My brother, Ray and I, stood there, unable to breathe, looking at six or more pieces of wood that stood on end on an angle amongst the shattered glass fragments, rain pouring through the now, gaping hole in the ceiling.  It wouldn’t have been half as bad had the greenhouse been a single standing structure in and of itself but, it was adjoined to the back of the house that led to the back bedroom where we were to sleep.

Not a word was said by anyone as Ray and I covered our mouths with our hands, waiting to be scolded for having left the wood up in the tree.  A minute seemed like an eternity during that moment of pure but silent disbelief as we looked at both of our grandparent’s faces, not really wanting to hear what we assumed they were both thinking.

“Well,” Nana said with a sigh and a smile, seemingly knowing we were waiting to be scolded, “that’s that.  What are we going to do…stand here and stare at it?  Let’s go watch some tv.”

Stunned, we slowly turned to follow her out into the kitchen, leaving our grandfather, standing, mumbling something like, “son of a bitch” under his breath and shaking his head.

It wasn’t until we were in the living room, tv turned up loudly for us that Nana told us she’d be right back and headed back towards the kitchen.  While the tv was loud, Nana was just a tad louder.

“What are you waiting for you old ass?” she yelled out to our grandfather, who was till mumbling inaudibly in the back room.  “You gonna stand there staring at it until we need to build an ark or, are you going to get your ass moving and fix it?”

I guess my grandfather was still in shock because while he had some “cuss words” of his own to utter, he spent the next two hours out in the rain, taking out the wood and strapping some sort of tarp to the top of the broken roof.

By the time we went to bed, the rain had stopped, crickets were chirping and the only sound we could hear was our grandfather, who had been kicked out of his bed for us to sleep in, snoring on the living room couch.

The only other sound we heard…was Nana, closing the bedroom door and calling our grandfather a “Stupid Old Bastard” under her breath as she crept back into her bed beside ours.

The following weekend, our grandfather helped us nail the boards to the tree and didn’t say a word as Nana watched his every move, almost daring him to utter anything that might upset us.

I think he knew that when it came to us, she’d win because he never said a wrong word to us.  For that we were grateful but, we’d also learned what not to do.

 

 

 

The Wrinkle Cream Viewpoint, Second Generation

There are many things that I cherish about my grandmother but, most of them are within me.  They are not material things but, rather the memories that she left with me…the times that we spent together, the weekends that I got to stay with her and the wonders of being a kid who had a grandmother with a great sense of down-to-earth humor as many of you might see in her own posts and words in her archived pieces. 

It would take her forever to type out her blog entries and as she’s written about in one entry, it used to confound her that people were liking her blog entries but, not really reading them.  She never did get the hang of the idea that bloggers like other’s blogs so as to be “liked back”. 

I used to watch her, sitting at her used desk top computer, typing with 2 fingers, her nose nearly up to the screen.  Her eyes were deteriorating with Macular Degeneration, leaving her only “keyhole” vision.  Laboriously and meticulously, she’d search the keypad on her keyboard for the letters, hitting one at a time until she’d spelled out the word, then hit the space bar raising her hand as though each word typed was a victory.  For her, it was but gawd, it was painful to watch. 

I used to say to her, “let me type it for you and you dictate,” to which she’d respond, “they’re my *%#ing words, I’m going to type them.” 

Nana minced no words.  If she felt like swearing, she’d swear.  If she felt like giving us all a piece of her mind, she did.  When she was in a bad mood, (which was rarely more than a few moment’s worth), she let herself be in one and would quickly get out of it again. 

I can remember her clearly when she was frustrated or mad.  Her eyes would squint and her crooked index finger would come up and point right at whomever or whatever she was ticked at.  There was no doubting that she was miffed at you or whatever or whomever and, if she was good and mad, you’d hear a string of “cuss words” as she called them, tumble out of her mouth with ease.  Like a tornado, as quickly as her anger came, it left and, she was asking if you wanted tea. 

One day, I dropped by unexpectedly, only to find her, sitting at her kitchen table on her antiquated computer, pecking out one of her blog entries.  Her hearing was close to being gone and she refused to turn up the volume so as to hear so, I walked in normally, calling out her name but, she didn’t hear me and kept right on typing. 

“Oh, Nana,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder lightly to let her know I was there.  “You really should let me get you a laptop so that you don’t have to sit just at the kitchen table.  You could even write your blog from your bed if you wanted.” 

She shooed me off as though I was crazy, saying, “why the bloody hell would I want to be in bed doing this?  I go to bed to sleep, not to live my life in there.  And, no…I don’t want another computer.  I’m just getting used to this one.  Now, where the hell is the apostrophe key?”

Because I had set up this blog on my account so that I could check it over for her before she posted it, I’d often get sworn at as well. 

“You changed my words around,” she’d say, with a lot more verve than I am repeating right now for ratings purposes.  “I type in what I’m thinking and that’s the way that I talk.  Don’t change it!” 

Knowing that I had to at the least, remove a few “cuss words”, I’d try to explain that the way she wanted to say things, might come across as offensive to others who might potentially read it.  She thought for a moment then, replied, “No one reads the *#%ing thing anyway, so why can’t I say what I want to say, the way that I want to say it?”

I stopped editing her words for the most part after that because she’d re-read every single word that was posted and give me hell if I’d changed anything.  She did, however, become a little better at toning it down. 

I’ve just re-read her entries before posting this one and I smiled…and, admittedly, cried a bit.  I miss her terribly and will likely always miss her.  She was a huge part of my life.  She was like a second mother to me. 

So, please excuse me if I carry on her blog in the manner that I know would be hers or by using her words in the way that she’d say them.  It may sometimes, be a little rough around the edges but, it will be the way that she was….strong spirited and, no façade.  It will be, just like her and, now that I’m closing in on the near 60 crowd, I’m finding myself also joining The Wrinkle Cream Viewpoint as well. 

I suppose….I’m going to become The Wrinkle Cream Viewpoint, Second Generation as she’s left me her legacy. 

 

 

The Author Of This Blog Has Passed Away But…Her Stories Live On

Sadly, my grandmother (the author of this blog) has passed away. 

Not many people read her words, which took her endless hours to peck out on a keyboard that was foreign to her as she searched and pecked the letters that formed the words, the sentences, the paragraphs and the long entries.  Her words were her stories that she tried to share with everyone but, no one paid attention to.  Hers was just one blog amongst millions and yet, in her age, she wanted to share her sense of humor as well as her opinions. 

Though my grandmother is gone (physically) from this earthly existence…her stories are still within my heart and mind.  Since it was her wish to share them with whomever would read her blog, I have made a promise to her that I will keep up her blog for her. 

So, the rest of the time that this blog exists, these will be HER stories.  I am merely filling them in for her, from memories of many a night, sitting with tea, listening with interest, fondness and love.  The words will be coming from me but, they are her stories and thoughts. 

Thank those of you who have read her words thus far. 

Thanks to those of you who will read her stories even though, written by me for her. 

Bless you Nana!  I miss you! 

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