Mocha Without the H

           Have you ever taken a MoCA test? If you can’t remember, that’s why you take one. MoCA stands for Montreal Cognitive Assessment. Alas, it has nothing to do with Mocha ice cream. It measures dementia.

          I decided I was tired of not being able to think of the word I want at times, so I asked my doctor to see if I’m losing it.

          A nice woman came in and had me figure out easy puzzles, draw a cube,  and answer simple questions.  She said I aced it and I felt brilliant.

          Oh, except for one part at the end. She asked me to name all the words I could, in one minute, that start with F.  Easy, peasy.  We all know a zillion such words, right? Off I went: friend, face, fact, flight, for, finish, final, fantastic, full, fan, fin, fun, flat, floor, fringe, food, flower, finicky, firm furry, fuzzy, fizzy—again, I passed with flying, fabulous, flambouyant colors.

This happened to a friend of mine with the letter M, remember? And, sure enough, I couldn’t stop. So now I was muttering words that start with F as I left the office, muttering them all afternoon, and then lying in bed that night, thinking of more.

          Is there a test for the inability to let something go?  If so, I need that one, now. Frantically. Full-tilt. First thing.

    Be sure to check out my Youtube Mom videos-- tons of fascinating, fun, first-class life hacks. 

The Nose Knows

I am a big baby. Not many people will admit to this, but I am fessing up to it in solidarity with other big babies all over the world. We try to act tough but we’re actually wimps.

I recently had to have a Covid-19 nasal swab before I could be admitted to the hospital for reconstructive surgery. Other adults had gone before me and did just fine.

I must have extra nerve endings, because it felt like that swab was going through my sinuses, then my brain, until  it bumped against the back of my skull.  And yes, St. Bob made the requisite jokes about nothing slowing the swab down.

But at least it was done. Now I needed to wait 24-72 hours for results. And, of course, they didn’t come in. We drove to the hospital on surgery day. We waited 2 hours. Still no results. Finally THEY DID ANOTHER TEST!  Turns out there’s a rapid one that only takes 45 minutes to get results. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WE COULD HAVE JUST DONE THIS ONE?

They swabbed the other side this time, every bit as thoroughly as the first one, which if I had OCD—which I do not—would have helped me feel a sense of balance. Instead I just felt a sense of YOWCH.

But the surgery went fine. On the drive home we got caught up in a high speed chase with a crazy driver zipping in and out, followed by 5 different police vehicles, sirens blazing.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the driver had done. And then I remembered another possibility: Maybe they just want him to get tested again for Covid.

          It’s much easier to deal with this pandemic if you have a good book to read. May I recommend any of the 25  I’ve written? Find them all here! (And then browse through my Youtube channel.)

My Spirit Animal is a Donut

          My spirit animal is a donut.  I have not taken the test, but I’m pretty sure this would be the answer. 

          Our daughter has given us several other personality tests, from the five love languages to the ones that place you in leadership categories or, for all I know, psychotic categories. 

          On the Myers-Briggs one, St. Bob and I got exactly the same evaluation.  We’re both ENFJs, “The Protagonist,” a charismatic leader.  This means we’re both imaginative, enthusiastic, chatty, and persuasive. 

          There’s another assessment that points you to your dominant energy type (there are four). I’m a Type One.  This means I’m bright, animated, and fun loving.

          On the Color Code test I’m mostly yellow.  Although I have enough of the other colors as secondary ones that I think the mix would looks more like mud. Wait-- make that chocolate milk.

Long ago I took an online test to see if I’m more right brain than left brain, and it said half and half.

I took it three more times to see if we could narrow it down, but every time it said I’m half and half. (And no comments from you monkey children about my possibly having half a brain.)  Actually, this makes sense because I’m both right-brain creative and left-brain organized.

          But testing is not new to me. When I was ten, my father (a psychologist) gave me the MMPI, a test usually only given to adults.  Whatever. You can read what that revealed here.

          But I’m always puzzled as to why people even take personality tests.  Don’t you already know that you’re shy, or outgoing, or whatever?  Who actually gasps in amazement at the results? 

          And this is how I already know my spirit animal.  It is a donut, and it is calling to me even now.  While I make a quick dash to the donut shop, you can order my books here.

Could You Pass this Test?

             If you ask me, I spend entirely too much time in the Dollar Tree.  My determination to save a buck here and there has cost me dearly.

             Last week my friend, Cori, and I were cruising the aisles for craft supplies.  This is because we’re Mormons and every month we get craftsy.  Note the s, and do not think we are crafty, although I cannot speak for everyone.

At any rate, we plan a regular enrichment/lecture/party/humanitarian activity/something for the women.

  It always involves socializing and it always includes dinner or refreshments.  Mind you, “refreshments” is a loose term these days and could mean veggies and dip rather than brownies, thanks to the women who keep reading medical studies.

            Cori, it turns out, has a keen eye for comedy and told me she found an at-home drug testing kit that would make a hilarious follow-up gift to my husband’s entrapment, shall we say, by marijuana growers recently.  You can read about that here:  http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=38571055380125485

            For a dollar, a drug-testing kit makes a lovely gift, and you can quote me on that.

            Cori sees a young clerk in his twenties, I’d say, and asks him where these marvelous supplies might be.  Now picture this scene:  Here are two middle-aged women with a shopping cart, asking a lanky kid where we can find a marijuana-testing kit, and he looks up from where he is stocking shelves and says, “They’re up here, but you can always use Niacin.” Now.  What value would you place on advice you receive in the dollar store?  

            And how does Niacin work, exactly?  Well, dear readers, it turns out people take Niacin to pass drug tests at their work.

            And how does this fellow come by such rich information?  I leave it to you to deduce this young man’s extracurricular activities, but I’m going to make a wild guess that it doesn’t involve making crafts with a bunch of Mormon women in an LDS chapel.

            “We look like we use drugs?” I whisper to Cori.  I’ve been accused of some shocking things (looking pregnant when I’m not, for one), but never this.  All I wanted was a gag gift for St. Bob!  Maybe this conversation is itself a test, and there’s a candid camera somewhere, taping our reaction.  I feel my eyes jerking sideways in an involuntary search for people I might recognize, who can overhear this guy’s expert counsel for my clearly desperate situation.

            I can feel the heat creeping up my neck as I purchase the kit.  Thankfully, it gets stuffed into a bag with craft items where I can carry it to my car anonymously.  I don’t look around for the Niacin guy.  I don’t look around for cops.  We just drive away and I feel at least a little relieved that no one offered me a home pregnancy testing kit as well.

Here’s an even bigger bargain: Subscribe to this blog for free!  Not even the Dollar Store can beat that.