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My mom had it. She suffered in silence.
And now, I must have it. I don't take pills. But I refuse to be silent. So I'll get it out of my system now: "OWWWWWW!"
Next weekend, I'm having another birthday. No, birthdays are not what my dad took pills for. Well, if he did, they must have worked. He hasn't had a birthday in 25 years.
I don't want any pills, though. I don't want to stop having birthdays. I just don't want any festivities.
Every year, my wife celebrates my birthday by baking a Black Forest Cake. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a two-layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, cherries, and whipped cream. For that, it would be worth having several birthdays a year.
But, I've reached that age now when birthdays have begun to serve notice on the human condition. Oh, it's nothing that magically strikes you on the very anniversary of your birth. It happens gradually over time, but birthdays are a reminder that you're getting older.
And you're experiencing pain.
The thing I feel I have that my parents both had is arthritis. Or maybe it's rheumatism. I've never been real clear on the difference between the two. Who knows? Maybe I have both.
Whatever it is I have, I'm convinced I have it because it hurts.
"Where does it hurt?" you might ask. That's what a doctor might ask, too, if I bothered to see a doctor.
To you, I'd respond, "In my joints." End of response.
If I saw a doctor, I'd respond, "In my joints ... and now my pocketbook."
So you see, it's less painful if I tell you and not a doctor.
And if my doctor is reading this, now he knows where I hurt. And he can't charge me for it.
Now, the reason I bring all of this up is because of the heck of a time I had the other evening while trying to open a jar of applesauce.
I was making my famous Applesauce Pork Chops. Obviously, my recipe calls for applesauce. I had just purchased a large family size jar of it that morning at the grocery store.
I prepared my chops in my special coating and laid them out on a baking pan. The final step before baking was to spread applesauce over the chops.
I gripped the fat jar of applesauce in my left hand and grasped the cap in my right hand and twisted. The lid didn't budge.
After several unsuccessful twists, my right hand was aching. Which it does when I grip anything for any length of time.
Not to be defeated, however, I held the jar in the crook of my arm for more leverage. I twisted. More aching. The jar lid was stubborn. My hand was growing weaker.
I ran the jar under water. I rapped the lid with the handle of a table knife. All the tricks my arthritic mother taught me.
This baby was definitely sealed at the factory for freshness. And I was losing my grip!
Finally, the lid worked loose and we had applesauce on our pork chops. Of course, my dear wife had to cut up my chops for me because I couldn't hold a knife in my aching hand.
So what are the applesauce manufacturers in America thinking when they screw the jar lids permanently on their product? Do they want us arthritic folks eating their applesauce or not?
Oh, we could buy the cutesy little six pack of applesauce in the 2-ounce plastic tubs with the easy, tear open foil top. But have you compared the price of those six-packs to a family size jar? You get a total of 12 tablespoons of applesauce at three times what you pay for the big jar!
But you can't open the big jar! Your hand hurts too much! And now you've wasted the money! So what good is it?
That, folks, is the trick! You're forced to buy the more expensive applesauce. And you may as well take the big jar and give it to a food drive and pray to God it doesn't end up in the hands of some penniless, arthritic nomad who dies of starvation in a back alley somewhere while desperately trying to pry off the lid!
I don't know about you, but I've decided that, as I get older and my hands get more arthritic, I will live without applesauce rather than pay through the nose for the easy-open six-pack. There are other, more accessible fruits, you know!
Anyone for my famous Banana Pork Chops?
Copyright 2011 by Wendel Potter
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