Medicare Vouchers?

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Oh, my gentle snowflakes, I don't think so.

In 1964, when Medicare became the law of the land, only 50 percent of the elderly even had insurance and of those that did only fifty percent of those policies would cover hospitalization. That’s the free market! 

Old people, when they get sick, need expensive care. Old people aren’t attractive to private insurers even if they have more money than Ann Romney’s dancing horses’ Cayman Islands trust funds. 

Why on earth people think that the free market system has gotten "kinder and gentler" since 1963, and why any thinking person can believe that a voucher system isn’t the moral equivalent of marching grandma onto an ice floe and pushing her out into a frigid ocean, is beyond me. And, as a grandma myself, I don't want to go.....

No vouchers (even by another name) for Medicare.

Old Age--Ver. ~5.0

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As I continue to age, I look for ever easier ways to cook the foods I love with ever decreasing involvement from me in the hour immediately preceeding sitting down to eat whichever meal is in question. 

My, gentle snowflakes, have I got a deal for you! 

I love sauteed mushrooms. With anything or nothing. BUT, I always disliked the amount of attention and involvement involved just before sitting down to consume them. 

Enter my faithful slow cooker/Crock Pot!

Italian Mushrooms

  Ingredients:

• 1 pound medium sized, fresh mushrooms, whole
• 1 large onion, cleaned, cut in half (stem to root) & sliced
• ¼ cup butter, melted in a cup in the microwave
• 2 tablespoons good olive oil
• 1 envelope italian dry salad dressing mix
• 2-3 tablespoons (more or less) white wine

  Directions:

• In a 3-quart slow cooker, layer the whole mushrooms and the sliced onion. 
• Combine melted butter, olive oil, and dry salad dressing mix; pour over vegetables.
• Sprinkle the white wine over all.
• Cover and cook on low for 4-5 hours or until the vegetables are tender.
• Serve with a slotted spoon.

This is supposed to serve 6. Fat chance! Not if you love mushrooms! The last time I made these I ate over half of them myself. Boy, are these things delicious.

However, the chief attraction, as far as I am concerned, is throw everything in the crock pot sometime between 1 and 2 pm then come back at supper time. Sure beats standing over a skillet and stirring and tossing those delightful little buttons for 15-20-30 minutes. 

Just One More Sign....

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This past week, I experienced just one more sign that I am truly getting old!

My gentle snowflakes, I was driving down the street and I actually swerved to MISS an empty drink cup lying in the street!

Since I first started driving, as most of the teen-aged-drivers did, I have made it a test of steering acuity to plow across any empty cup I encountered--given, of course, a lack of oncoming traffic. But that day, I swerved.

As soon as I had swerved and missed the cup, I realized the implications:  creeping old age.

You can bet your bottom dollar that next time I am driving and encounter that well-known, rolling cup or plastic bottle, I will once again attempt to flatten any that I come across in the roadway. I am now aware and will not make that mistake again!

Fight it off as long as possible!

Medicare for All

Medicare for All

(Different links to different sites)

For the Boomers....

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Ahh, my gentle snowflakes, I rise for a point of personal privilege. (If you do not understand, I highly recommend you join a group/organization which adheres to some form of Robert's Rules of Order.)

As I age, I have been making my father's noises. For quite some time now, I have been making, especially, his morning noises and, lately, I have added his middle of the night noises. More or less, I have gotten used to it. Sometimes a particular noise will startle me. Mostly though, I have grown to accept them--as just gentle reminders of my father. It could be worse, I could have received the gene that gave him that ski slope of a nose! Bad enough that from the genetic lottery I drew the jug-handle ears.

This morning, though, when I put on my socks--I saw my mother's feet.

Not long and elegant. Oh, no, not long and elegant. No, I saw feet with tendons ropy, toes boney, veins pronounced.

I do not like it. Do not like it one bit.
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