My wife plays the trombone in a German band. I have mentioned this before (And the Band Plays On), so I won’t go into too much detail other than to say that this time of year is her busiest season with the band. She is gone every weekend during the last half of September and during October for Oktoberfest.
Because I enjoy German music about the same way I enjoy getting wooden slivers rammed under my fingernails, I do not go to the Oktoberfest events with my wife. I just stay at home on my own and enjoy not listening to polka music played nonstop for five straight hours.
Ordinarily, being home by myself is not a big deal. Recently, however, there have been a few changes in my life.
I went to the doctor a couple months back because I was having some issues with my blood pressure. It was getting a bit higher than the typical level for sustaining human life and I decided I should get checked out and make sure it wasn’t anything to worry about.
It was something to worry about.
The doctor advised that because of my weight (yes, I have gained a few pounds since retiring, but who would have guessed eating more and moving less could do that?) my blood pressure had gotten high enough that I might have to start taking medication to control it.
I dislike taking medication, so I asked if there was another way to deal with it. The doctor said if I could lose some of the extra fat I was carrying around it might make a difference. He advised me to cut my calorie intake to 1500 or fewer each day, and to stop consuming alcohol, sugar, processed foods, and caffeine for a couple months and see if that helped.
I’m not sure if his attempt to suck all the joy out of my life was to improve my health or if he just had a bet with some of the other doctors to see if he could make a patient suicidal.
I asked if there might be a third option in this scenario. He told me, “no.”
Then he asked which was more important to me, to see my grandchildren grow up or to eat fast food.
That question really hit home. I don’t care for my kids all that much, and I don’t expect I’m going to like theoretical future grandkids much better. Especially if they’re being raised by the wild animals that call themselves my daughters.
Plus, I love cheeseburgers.
I explained my quandary to the doctor, and he said, “Forget it. Go on a diet or I’m prescribing pills to get your blood pressure down.”
So, I went on the diet. And I’ve been really good about sticking to it as well. Except when I’m left on my own. Which brings us back to Oktoberfest.
With my wife gone on the weekends, I am left to take care of myself. This is never a good idea in the best of circumstances. My youngest daughter is still away at college, and my oldest, although she moved back home with me, is usually out with her friends in the evening and I don’t see much of her except at about noon when she is getting out of bed and getting ready for another day of leaving me alone in the house.
So, what happens when I’m alone? Let me walk you through a recent day of fending for myself.
I spent the morning and early afternoon sticking to my diet and keeping busy working in the yard and doing some writing in my den. About three o’clock in the afternoon, I started eyeing a bag of potato chips in the pantry that are definitely not on my diet. Instead of eating them, I decided to go out and get some exercise, so I put on a pair of sweats and went for a walk.
While I was out walking, I started feeling sorry for myself because I was alone and hungry. Mostly the being hungry part. I began to think about what food I had in the house and what I should fix when I got back home. We had lettuce and vegetables for a salad, and we also had some leftover meatloaf from a few nights previously.
Those items would have been perfect for dinner, if there was someone else at home watching to see what I was eating. Which there wasn’t.
So, I made myself a pizza with extra cheese, and ate it with a bowl of ranch dressing (nature’s most perfect, artery-clogging food). To wash it all down, I opened up a couple of Mike’s hard lemonades which are mostly sugar and alcohol, neither of which is physician approved on my current diet.
All I really needed to cap off the evening was to smoke a carton of cigarettes to assure that I would be dead by Monday.
That was just one weekend. I have four more to get through without any adult supervision. I don’t anticipate my self-control is going to improve over the next month so I can already hear what the doctor will have to say the next time I see him.
“Mr. Wilbanks, I can see by your test results that your blood is 30% ranch dressing. Your blood pressure is still high, but the good news is your arteries are so plugged nothing is moving around inside your body anymore.”
I blame my wife for all of it. She has seen firsthand what happens when I’m left by myself. She should know better by now.
I need to have a talk with her about her poor decision-making skills.
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