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 |  A Baby-Boomer STILL alive and living in senior housing...
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The random thoughts of a Baby-Boomer STILL adjusting to life in senior housing (after five years)... Almost exactly nine months after World War II ended, one historian writes, “the cry of the baby was heard across the land.” More babies were born in 1946 than ever before: 3.4 million, 20 percent more than in 1945. This was the beginning of the so-called “baby boom.” In 1947, another 3.8 million babies were born; 3.9 million were born in 1952; and more than 4 million were born every year from 1954 until 1964, when the boom finally tapered off. By then, there were 76.4 million “baby boomers” in the United States. They made up almost 40 percent of the nation’s population. - www.history.com |
| Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! So far my new age is not enjoyable. Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! I’m trying to be optimistic about this brutal weather. Ugh! Ugh! [trying to smile] Ugh! Ugh! [still trying] Ugh! Ugh! I give up. Still, though… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Walking in steam-bath weather is not conducive to happiness, but I’m not giving up as of yet. The temps are supposed to be over 100 the next two days, so we’ll see how I make out. Celebrated my birthday yesterday by having dinner with Mom and Dad; then we took a ride through the countryside to where my sister, her husband, and my nieces and nephew met us at Rita’s for ice cream and Italian ice…a grand time was had by all. And everyone complimented me on my new appearance, so I guess my walking and exercise regimens have made a difference to some people (I’d never know by listening to residents here at The Home, though - sigh!)…of course the nice comments came from family members, so maybe I shouldn’t get too excited. I also visited my doctor yesterday to have her irrigate my ears. I’m experiencing blockage as I go up and down the hills surrounding The Home – there’s no pain, it’s mainly annoying; it screws up my hearing making everything sound like it’s in a tunnel. I usually go once a year to have her flush out the excess wax and it costs $110 every time. This year, in an attempt to be economical, I bought a syringe-type flusher from Amazon and tried to do it on my own – no success. So I broke down and made an appointment. She looked in my ear and couldn’t see anything (no wisecracks from the audience!); she thought maybe I had liquid stuck in my Eustachian tubes, so she prescribed Flonase and told me to try that for a week or two to see if it clears up. If not, I’ll have to go see an ENT. Something to look forward to… During one of my forays for a smoke, I saw my neighbor Billie drive past. I waved to her and wanted to shout “Happy Birthday” to her (I’d learned a few months back during a conversation with her that we shared birthdays), but was too embarrassed someone might perceive me as a crazy person – besides I had just inhaled. She waved back, stopped her car, and then reversed to where I was standing. She lowered her window, and before she could say anything, I yelled, “Happy Birthday!” anyway (damn the neighbors; I’m old – I can get away with strange behavior now and then). She returned the greeting, raised her window, put her station wagon in drive, and squealed away – literally “squealed” – I think there’s something wrong with her transmission fluid. All in all, a good day for moi: dinner, frozen treat, doctor, squealing… Life is good. |
| Ugh! [knock…knock] “Be right there.” (me) “Yes?” It was Angie. “Something’s been bothering me and Connie said I should talk to you.” Connie being Complaining Connie… “What’s up?” (me) “Do you know where the Mason-Dixon Line was?” (her) “Umm, no sorry, I can’t remember. Was it between Pennsylvania and Maryland?” (me) “No, I don’t think so.” (her) “Well, it’s not that important. Connie thought you’d know.” “Sorry.” (me) “Bye.” “Bye.” (her) [click – and an extra look to make sure the door was locked] And that was the extent of conversation for me here at The Home yesterday. (I later Googled “Mason-Dixon Line” and it ran along the borders of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, and present-day West Virginia – so I was partly right. Thank you, Mr. Lessig, my dreaded seventh grade history teacher.) Life is good. |
| Ugh! So, in the middle of making homemade ravioli and sauce yesterday morning here at The Home, a banging on my door tore me away from the kitchen. It was Complaining Connie, Angie, and CC’s dog, Rascal. “I hate to bother you, but could you watch Rascal while Angie and I go out to get our hair done? It’s too hot to leave him in the car.” (CC) “Umm, I’m sorta tied up right now.” (me) “Well, if you can’t do it, you can’t do it. Sorry for bothering you.” (CC) She wheeled backwards with a “harrumph.” “No, no, it’s not that. You just kind of caught me off guard. How long will you be?” “Shouldn’t be more than an hour.” (CC) She pushed Rascal off her lap, handed me one end of his leash and a plastic shopping bag and added, “Here’s his water dish and some treats for him after you take him for a walk.” “Okay.” (me) I closed my door as her wheelchair squeaked down the hallway to the elevator. I’m beginning to regret offering to watch her dog a few months ago. This was the second time since I’d offered – my only requirement was a day’s notice. She failed. The last time the half-shorn Rascal cried almost the entire visit. Yesterday went a bit more smoothly – he cried only for the first hour. Yes, first hour. What was supposed to be an hour trip turned into a four-and-a-half hour absence. I didn’t know how to entertain the pooch – I have no dog toys; we went for three walks (he peed about five times on each journey – his bladder must be the size of a pea) and ignored his treats upon returning; I ate lunch, finished my ravioli and sauce, washed dishes, exercised (my sit-ups caused Rascal to bark loudly – maybe he thought I was in distress? Doesn’t say much for my form. Sigh.), and because CC was gone so long, my afternoon walk occurred later than my normal routine, which threw me off for the rest of the day (I’m a creature of habit). When the knock finally came on my door, I opened it expecting to see a new and improved CC. She looked the same. So did Angie. I asked, “How was your beauty shop?” CC craned her neck to look inside my apartment: “We never made it. We went out for lunch instead. Where’s Rascal?” I put his leash on him, emptied the water dish, put it in the bag with his uneaten treats and opened my apartment door. He hopped onto her lap. “Bye, Rascal.” (me) CC: “Say good-bye.” She waved his uninterested paw at me, turned her wheelchair around and squeaked down the hall. Not even a thank-you. Rude. “And get some WD-40 for your wheels!” I shouted to myself as I closed the door. Oi, Life is good. |
| Ugh! The seven-day forecast from the weather folks in this area is populated with nines. I don’t like that. Yesterday I found Larry sitting in the common area on the second floor in Bermuda shorts (only) eating Moosetracks ice cream right out of the half-gallon-sized carton. I had just returned to The Home from my afternoon walk, so I was dripping sweat as I rushed through to the staircase. “Hot enough for ya?” Larry asked before forcing another spoonful into his gaping mouth. “Yup.” (me) “Yeah, I thought so, too. I’m not going to do my walk today – too hot.” Another spoonful and sucking sounds as he melted it in his mouth. “Probably won’t walk at all this week.” “I’m gonna try to do a long walk each morning, then if it’s not too bad outside, a short afternoon one.” (me) “How’s your diet coming along?” A big spoonful, then, “Not too good…I gained a pound.” (him) “Well, once the weather cools down you can start walking again.” (me) “See ya later.” “Okay.” A dribble of melted ice cream ran down his chin; his tongue snaked out and caught it before it dripped onto his voluminous belly. As I turned into the stairwell, I could hear his spoon scraping the sides of the ice-cream carton. I wonder what Moosetracks ice cream tastes like? Life is good. |
| Ugh! Lots of noise outside The Home all day yesterday: the maintenance folks dug up all the shrubbery at the front and replaced them with rocks. So much for nature…at least they didn’t take down the trees and put concrete in their stead. That’ll probably be next week’s assignment. Mrs. Roper got her scarf stuck in her mailbox again on Wednesday. She should probably tie it tighter around her neck rather than let it flow in the breeze as she cruises the lobby. Maybe the management will erect a sign: NO SCARF WEARING INDOORS. Over the past week I’ve received four different solicitations from assorted insurance firms attempting to sell me “final expense” policies. I wonder if they’re trying to tell me something. Beautiful weather predicted for the weekend, then another brutal heat wave for all of next week. I hope the prognosticators are wrong. I’m tired of summer. A nice cold front from our Canadian friends would be welcomed. All in all, though… Life is good. |
| Ugh! On my afternoon walk yesterday, one of the busiest streets was blocked off to traffic near the funeral home I pass daily. I suppose a ceremony was occurring inside and police cordoned off the avenue to allow for the procession to follow. Limousines were lined up in the parking lot and along the curb. It got me to thinking about an experience I had when I lived in Philadelphia; for a while I worked in a bookstore in center city. It was a quirky bunch of us who worked there: artists, graduate students, mothers, gay, straight, black, white, Jewish, Indian, Malaysian, agnostic – a real mishmash of center city residents. On my stroll to work one morning, Chestnut Street was shut off to traffic as I traversed the blocks between my home and the store. I thought it odd but after a few minutes a police escort came down the street followed by three limousines all driving at a crawl. It was then I recalled a story from that morning’s news broadcast that the queen of The Netherlands was in town for something or other. I tried to see her in one of the limos, but the dark glass prevented viewing, so I just waved at each of the cars as they passed me on the street. I got to the store and said, “I saw a queen on my way to work this morning.” Vince, a defrocked priest who worked for us part-time, chimed, “That’s nothing. I saw four queens on my way in.” I doubt we’ll have any royal sightings in the vicinity of The Home any time soon. Unless Larry appears in the lobby wearing a crown and little else one of these days… Life is good. |
| Ugh! I bailed on Vera again yesterday…it was too hot for activities here at The Home. Besides the main air conditioner for the common areas of the building was on the fritz yesterday, so the community room (which has no windows) was stifling. Not sure how many showed up; Complaining Connie, Angie, and Irene all said they were not going either. In its stead, I watched a documentary by Ken Burns on the Brooklyn Bridge…now I know more than I care to about the structure. But, like all his work, it was most enjoyable to view. I’ve been to NYC many, many times, but sadly, I’ve never seen the Brooklyn Bridge firsthand except from the top of the Empire State Building and the top of the World Trade Center. After seeing the film, I want to experience the bridge in real life. Maybe a stroll from Manhattan to Brooklyn Heights is in my future? That killed an hour, so I turned my attention to cricket. I’m reading a book by P.G. Wodehouse called “Mike” and it deals with the game. I know nothing about it, but I enjoy Wodehouse very much, so I Googled it and now have an elementary-level understanding of the sport. I don’t anticipate attending a cricket match any time soon, but one never knows. Maybe Vera will surprise us all next month with bats and balls and wickets? That would be something new and exciting – and Complaining Connie will complain. Speaking of her, she gave her dog, Rascal, half a haircut. The poor thing looks shamed to be seen in public: droopy eyes and hanging head. I guess she got bored with the hygiene and gave up on the pooch. I feel sorry for him. Not sorry enough to finish the job, though. I’m hungry for a butterscotch sundae from Dairy Queen. Life is good. |
| Ugh! The fire alarm on the third floor malfunctioned last night here at The Home. And I slept through the whole thing. I awoke around 5 a.m. and when I came out of my bedroom, after turning off the bedroom-window a/c and pedestal fan (I sleep better with white noise in the background), I heard the LOUD buzzing sound of the alarm from the hallway. I opened my apartment door after feeling for heat (learned that on the news), but couldn’t detect any smoke or smells. I looked out my windows to see if neighbors had gathered in the parking lot – it was empty, save the cars. I figured it was a false alarm. Again. The system did something similar about a year ago – lots of buzzing for no apparent reason. It does perform satisfactorily now and then – like when Mrs. Park leaves a pot to boil dry on her stove (two times so far). I might reconsider running the fan at night in conjunction with the window a/c and keeping my bedroom door shut – I didn’t hear a blasted thing! Yikes! Well, if I had burned up in the event it had been a real catastrophe, at least I have lost some weight beforehand…it’s important to look one’s best at all times, I think. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Getting ready for a few days of intense heat and humidity here at The Home…but it is July and should be expected. Time to crank up the a/c for a day or two, I suppose… Saturday I had a feeble knock on my door. It was Diane (my “Hoovering” cozy-knitting neighbor). “Hi.” (me) “Here, I made this for you.” She held out her hand; I was hoping it was not a cozy – my wish came true; it wasn’t. “I hope you like it. It’s a thank-you for plugging in my air conditioner the other day.” I took the flat, square, waxed-paper-wrapped package into my hand. (I didn’t know one could still buy waxed paper.) It was light in weight, so I quickly figured it wasn’t a gold ingot. “Well, I have to be going. I have the kettle on the stove. I just wanted to give that to you.” “Thanks.” (me) I closed my apartment door and opened the package. It was a cheese sandwich. Oi. Not sure if etiquette dictates me sending her a thank-you note or not…where is Emily Post when I need her? Life is good. |
| Ugh! The other night while outside The Home for my last cigarette (last of the day – not THE LAST one forever: still working on THAT) I saw a lightning bug (firefly). It didn’t flash, but did flit around my head. It was the first I’d seen here in town – not sure why that is; must be all the lights from streetlamps and houses surrounding The Home makes them difficult to ascertain. I’d missed the little buggers… Back in the 90s I rented a cottage on a 200-acre farm when I moved back to this area after living in Philadelphia for nine years. My nearest neighbor at the farm was ¾ mile away; the driveway was one-half mile long; and my cottage was attached to the original stone farmhouse built in 1790. The farm was situated in a hollow nestled beside a little brook. I recall sitting outside at dusk and looking across the field of timothy up towards the main road and relishing in the nightly spectacle of the lightning bugs arising from the ground and filling the nighttime sky with their blinks – there were literally millions of the things. Barn swallows swooped through the air feeding on the insects; and at the same time, hundreds of bats flew out from behind the window shutters on the farmhouse also seeking their own brand of nourishment. During the six years I lived there I had not one mosquito bite – the bats and barn swallows took care of them. (I did, however, contract Lyme’s Disease during my first spring there; I suppose the insect controllers stayed away from the deer and their vermin.) I miss those light shows. It’s nice to know, though, that the potential is here in the neighborhood of The Home for a recurrence – perhaps during a massive power outage I’ll get to experience it again. In the meantime I have my memories of Mother Nature’s handiwork. Sigh. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I'm ready for autumn...partly because I can't take hot and humid at nighttime, but mostly because my favorite word is "autumnal" – I can't recall when I started liking it, I just do. My 10th grade English teacher's favorite word was "cellar" – she liked the way it sounded; no harsh consonants – never mind that it denoted a dank and dreary place – she thought it was lovely. I think autumnal is a better word. So there, Mrs. Sprandel! Off for a walk in the soup-y air outside The Home. Life is good. |
| Ugh! So I came back from my morning walk yesterday and scaled the stairs to the third floor common area on my way back to my apartment. As I passed Diane’s door, it opened and she breathlessly asked me to come inside: “My air conditioner got unplugged. I was hoovering. Can you plug it back in for me? I can’t stoop behind my chair to get at it.” So inside I go, make my way through her dining area into the living room, find the cord, and stick it back in the socket – all the time wondering about the term “hoovering” and not thinking she was British, but I could be mistaken. I noticed balls of yarn on her coffee table and said, “My grandmother used to knit. Do you?” “Oh, my, yes I do.” (her) “Gram used to knit sweaters for us kids to wear to school. The thing I remember most about them was how much they itched,” and I laughed. She smiled and went on: “I haven’t kitted a sweater in a long while. Right now I’m doing cozies.” “Cozies?” (me) “Yes, you know, like a tea cozy?” I’d heard mention of a tea cozy, but truthfully had never seen one in person. I recall growing up and visiting my great-aunt’s house and in the bathroom she had the extra roll of toilet paper disguised as a crocheted/knitted bride, but her teapot was bare. I nodded my assent. “Would you like to see my latest project?” (her) I was sweating profusely and desperately wished to be in my shower but relented. I followed her into her kitchen and she pointed to the wall. There was this knitted, grey elephant, complete with big ears and trunk hanging where in each of our apartments a fire extinguisher hangs; Diane’s fire extinguisher was inside the woven pachyderm. I stared at the thing. “I call him Ralph. I could knit one for you if you’d like.” (her again) “Oh, don’t go to any trouble for me. That looks nice, though.” Geez. “He only took two days to complete. Connie on the first floor wants one, so I’m doing one for her.” “That’s nice; well, I should be going. You have a nice day and happy knitting!” (me) I left, came home, and showered. Hoovering? Fire extinguisher cozy? Oi. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Non-stressful Fourth for me here at The Home... Did my walks and exercises and watched “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” I don’t know how I’ve gone my whole life without viewing it – it was entertaining and a tad hokey, but it was made in 1942, so I understood; but I thought it kind of apropos for the holiday. No picnics, no swimming, no injuries…no complaints. After listening to the fireworks both in the neighborhood and the sounds/sky-brightening of the municipal’s display, I can honestly say I’m glad I don’t live in a war zone. Yikes – how do those people sleep with booms and bangs and flashes going off around them all the time? The Home’s parking lot was kind of empty the whole weekend; I guess some Home-ites went traveling…that or there was a rash of car thefts from Friday through Monday. My car is still here. I’m glad after paying the big bill a few weeks back – I’d hate to have someone else get the use of it. Last week I bought “white peaches” at the farmers’ market. I’d never heard of them before and decided to give them a try. I let them ripen up on the countertop for a few days before eating them – yummy! I got some more this past week – bad move – what a difference a week made: the first of this new batch was mealy…I’m disappointed. Not sure where they’re coming from – they’re obviously not local – too early in the season for peaches in Pennsylvania. Maybe I just got a bad one? All in all, though… Life is good. |
| Ugh! One of the neighboring houses here by The Home had the owner working outside on Saturday. I saw him on a ladder at the front of his house when I left for my morning walk; my initial thought was that he was going to wash the windows. When I returned an hour later, he was still on the ladder attempting to fasten a metal bracket to the window frame – it looked like a flag holder. I thought, “Just in time for the 4th! How patriotic…” When I left The Home a few hours later for my afternoon walk, he was still on the ladder working. Now, I’ve never attached a flag holder to a window frame before, but I’m pretty darned sure it doesn’t take six hours to complete the job. However, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and told myself he had NOT been working on it for that length of time and our schedules just happened to coincide that day. Upon my return from the afternoon trek, I passed his house again. Yup, he was still working on the window. At this rate, I thought, he might get it in place for Labor Day. Houses all through town proudly displayed Old Glory all weekend long. This poor guy just couldn’t seem to catch a break for some reason. Early Sunday morning I began my walk and saw a flag hanging from the window of his house. It was a black-and-white, skull-and-crossbones flag. Oi. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I’m thinking of contacting the local YM/WCA to inquire about joining them. According to the Web site for my insurance, I’m eligible for a free membership to the Y as part of my benefits package. Now that I’ve been walking and exercising for three-and-a-half months, I’m in reasonably good enough shape to appear in a gym-type environment without feeling inadequate. Showers, though, are a different matter; not sure if I’m ready enough to bare it all in front of others at this point… It’s sad that I had to prepare myself beforehand, but that’s how I’ve operated most of my life. When I first moved to Philadelphia, I sublet an apartment from an executive at a pharmaceutical firm. The rent included housekeeper service every other Wednesday. It was a nice perk – and I’d never had a housekeeper before (or, sadly, since). Invariably, every other Tuesday night found me cleaning the apartment in preparation for Mrs. Harris’s arrival the next morning; I didn’t want her to know my living habits. I wasn’t (and am not) a slob; I just felt uneasy about her cleaning my things. The next morning she’d show up, greet me, and then I’d make breakfast for us and we’d chat until it was time for me to head off to work. I’d return at the end of the day to a clean(er) apartment – and like clockwork, when I’d turn on my TV, the volume would be set to ear-shattering levels; I assumed she watched her “stories” while giving the place a once-over. After a year, the original owner of the apartment moved his things out and I took over the lease. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to keep Mrs. Harris, so she was let go. And my ears recovered slowly… Boy Scouts are taught to “be prepared” at all times. I lasted three weeks in Boy Scouts – I quit after not being able to light a match by striking it with a hatchet. My thinking went along the lines of “why would I be stranded with a match and hatchet yet not have the striking part of the matchbox/book to light the match?” It didn’t make sense to me, so I ditched the Scouts and got a paper route. Delivering papers was more lucrative and it didn’t involve tying knots… So the Y is something I feel ready to investigate. I have to start preparing for the winter months (wishful thinking in July, eh?) and have a back-up plan in place in case of inclement weather and the hills surrounding The Home are impassable. One can dream… Life is good. |
| Ugh! “Wilbur, let me know when the delivery man gets here, will you?” “Why, Ed, are you expecting something today?” “I sure am, buddy boy. My iPad should be arriving any time now.” “What does a horse need an iPad for?” “I wanna keep up to date with the world. I wanna be on Twitter. Didn’t you hear the news this morning?” “What news was that, Ed?” “Even the Pope is tweeting now. If he can do it, I wanna do it, too, Wilbur. We horses have to embrace new technology and not risk being left behind.” “I don’t know about that.” “Why sure we do. All my friends are on Horsebook, Wilbur. I’m the only one that doesn’t have an account.” “Horsebook, Ed? Don’t you mean Facebook?” “Facebook is for you humans to keep in touch. Horsebook is for us stallions and fillies to stay abreast. Why Felicia down at the stables has over a thousand friends from all over the world. She showed me her iPad last week when I bumped into her on the bridle path. So I ordered one when I came home. It should be here today.” “Uh-huh.” “Say, when it gets here and I get it all set up, call Carol out to the barn. I’ll get a picture of the three of us and post it right on Horsebook so all my friends can see that I’ve joined the 21st century. Whaddaya think of that, buddy boy? Sound okay?” “Sure, Ed, sure. Have you thought about how you’ll access the Internet?” “All taken care of, Wilbur. I have a saddle-ite connection. Har-har.” A horse is a horse, of course, of course, And no one can talk to a horse, of course, That is, of course, unless the horse Is the famous Mister Ed. Sorry…the end of the month got to me… Life is good. |
| Ugh! A strange occurrence on my second walk yesterday: as I strolled through the neighborhood, I caught glimpse of the first butterfly of the season. I’m sure they’ve been around for a while, but this was my initial sighting. It was yellow-and-black and fluttered in front of me, behind me, over me, and beside me for half a block. I came to a busy intersection and had to wait for a break in traffic. As I checked oncoming vehicles to my right, I saw the butterfly resting on my shoulder. Strange… I thought of swishing it off, but right then the intersection cleared and I stepped off the curb. Besides, I wasn’t afraid of the thing; I’m pretty sure they don’t bite. Out of my peripheral vision I could see my yellow-and-black companion coming along for the ride! He (or she – I’m not up on sexing butterflies, sorry) didn’t flinch at all; just, like, lope-a-dope-a-lope, a-long-we-go. When I reached the far sidewalk, he flitted off my shoulder and did a little aerial ballet in front of me. I took that as thanks and off he flitted down the street into someone’s yard. Very nice afternoon. Life is good. |
| Ugh! ‘tis the season in the environs surrounding The Home – yikes, the fireworks have already started even though the holiday is a week off. This happens every year: residents can’t hold back their excitement and start shooting off fireworks, bottle rockets, and firecrackers way before the 4th. The same thing happens around New Year’s, but not as intense. Thank goodness none of us Home-ites partake of this dastardly behavior… Years ago fireworks were illegal in Pennsylvania. Now, however, they’re sold almost everywhere. As a result all sorts of individuals (and I use that term lightly) purchase them then terrify their neighbors/hoods with wanton blast-offs and stray pyrotechnics. And, like clockwork, our local media will cover a few stories about someone having a hand half-blown off or a grandmother getting treated for severe, third-degree scalp burns from an errant sparkler during the next week. The municipal fireworks are scheduled for the evening of the 4th – like they should be. They shoot them off about a half mile from The Home, so the sky does light up and our windows do rattle, but at least that is a controlled situation. And, so far at least, it’s free! In the meantime, I’m hanging asbestos curtains in my windows for safety’s sake – one can’t be too careful. A fashion statement they’re not, but they do tend to keep cherry bombs in their proper places. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I had a first occurrence of something happen to me on Saturday. It was a beautiful morning for my walk: the sun hadn’t quite come up yet, it was cool, the humidity had dropped after big thunderstorms Friday afternoon, and I crested the top of the hill to begin the descent back to The Home. Looking down the decline, I saw a plume of smoke. My first thought was Complaining Connie was out and about, but then realized the plume was way too big, even for her – and it was billowing and blowing across town. As I got nearer, I saw smoke coming from underneath the eaves of a double-house situated partway up the opposing hill. There seemed to be no one around: vacant neighborhood, no traffic to speak of, and since I don’t own a cell phone, naturally no pay phone near where I was located. I hightailed it to the local convenience store and hurried inside. I asked the cashier to call 9-1-1, that a house appeared to be on fire two blocks away. She hesitated and asked why I didn’t call it in myself on my own phone. I told her I don’t have one. She raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue at me. This was no time for being judgmental, I thought; call the darned fire company. She took her time pulling her purse out of the cubbyhole beneath the counter, rooted around inside it, and eventually pulled out her cell phone. I wanted to rattle her…if I had told her there was a rewarding piece of chocolate in her purse, you can bet she’d have had it out and in her mouth in two seconds…lint and all! I looked out the window and saw smoke filling the neighborhood. I could hear the cashier talking to someone. She yelled to me, “What’s the address?” “I don’t know. It’s part way up 3rd Street just off Main.” (me) “He doesn’t know.” (her) I got the feeling I had really, really disrupted her morning. “Okay.” (her) She put her phone back into her purse, put it back into the cubbyhole, and looked at me. “Can I help you with anything?” “No, thanks for calling 9-1-1, though.” “Glad to be of help,” and then she popped her gum. I left and continued my way back to The Home. On the way, the fire engines from the firehouse half a block away from The Home sped past me. Later in the day I read online that two families were displaced by the fire that burned the third floors and roofs of both sides. Never before had I “discovered” a fire. It was kind of exciting! Except for the slow-witted cashier. And, no, I’m still not getting a cell phone. So, there. Life is good. |
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I shall miss your wit and wisdom. Hope all works out for you.
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no pun intended!