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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! Okay, I’ve had enough of winter now. Mother Nature, if you’re listening: STOP IT! Good. Now I feel better. Life is good. ____ carlton607 - looking to free-up brain space |
| Ugh! Well, we had our meet-and-greet with the newly hired activities director Tuesday here at The Home. Her name is Vera and she seems likable enough – smiley, jokey, laughy. The turnout was disappointing – four residents showed up – not very encouraging. I had seen Complaining Connie outside earlier in the day and asked if she was going. She said, “I can’t. I have to vacuum today.” When I mentioned it would only be about an hour she said the timing was not good for her. Sigh. After the session, Doom-and-Gloom Earl predicted Vera would be a failure because “…she isn’t young enough.” Not sure what that meant. It’s not like we’re going to be doing aerobics (although we all would benefit). As I left him in the lobby, he was on his cell phone shouting, “Tomorrow’s no good. We’re having a blizzard here.” (It snowed, but hardly blizzard stuff.) Vera told us few that she would be stopping by on a monthly basis – the second Tuesday – and if we had any suggestions for things to do to let her know by leaving a note with the management people. So now we have that to look forward to. Yay! I’m going to remain hopeful concerning Vera. I just hope others will do the same. Out to clear snow off my car. Again. Sigh. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Ran into Complaining Connie and Rascal on one of my smoke forays yesterday. She told me she needs to set up appointments with a physical therapist but is reluctant to do so because she can’t leave Rascal home alone and it’s too cold to take him along and keep him in her car. Sooooo, I said I would watch Rascal in my apartment. Yikes! I sure hope I don’t regret that conversation. I’m not really a canine person, but Rascal is a nice dog and he has taken a liking to me. I’m hopeful that if CC does follow through with the PT, her attitude about life might change – of course, it could all backfire and just give her more fuel to complain. I’m not going to hold my breath about the whole thing… She did thank me for cleaning the snow off her car; that was nice of her. Saw Cecelia at the mailboxes yesterday – she ignored me. 50/50 for the day for me. I’m hungry for coleslaw – on my next trip to the farmers’ market, I’ll buy the fixings for that. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Yesterday I spent awaiting the next winter storm to hit this area. My cupboards and fridge are well stocked. Doom-and-Gloom Earl has told everyone over the past two days he’s come in contact with that we’re going to get 18 inches of snow sending a general panic through the residents here at The Home. The weather people I’ve listened to aren’t quite as dramatic; I wonder where he gets his meteorological information. Anyway, I found myself bored in mid-afternoon, so I decided to test something I’ve always wondered about. Growing up I often heard the maxim “a watched pot doesn’t boil.” I put a pot of water on the stove for angel hair pasta for dinner and stood right there and stared at the thing. That maxim is wrong! A watched pot DOES indeed boil. It takes eight minutes, but there you have it. I can now cross that one off my list. When I was a child I tested another maxim: step on a crack and break your mother’s back. Untrue! (My mom had chastised me for not putting my toys away; I went outside and SEARCHED for a crack to step on! She turned out fine.) Next on the agenda: the early bird gets the worm. Maybe I’ll pass on that one. Life is good. |
| Ugh! No good deed goes unpunished. I would think by now I should have learned that lesson, but nooooo. After the snow stopped Friday morning (we had about six inches of the stuff) I went out to clean off my car. I ran into Billie in the lobby – she was on her way outdoors to clear off her car – with ice scraper in one hand and cane in the other. We discussed the frigid temperatures coming for the weekend and the importance of clearing the snow off our cars before it froze into solid blocks of ice. Being the nice person I am, I offered to do her car so she wouldn’t have to balance on her cane while brushing away the white stuff. She thanked me and hobbled back to her apartment. I did her car and then decided to do Complaining Connie’s car just in case she found a need to go out over the weekend. I’ve seen her get in and out of her car from her wheelchair and it’s a chore with no snow, so I figured it’d be a nice gesture. When I finished their cars, I did my own. I was covered with snow when I completed the tasks and I headed inside. Right at the door Cecelia was waiting. She greeted me with a big smile. I shook some snow off and said hello back. She said, “Why didn’t you do my car?” Huh? I told her I helped Billie and Connie because they are handicapped. Her response: she harrumphed, turned and stomped to the elevator. Go figure. Only 56 more days until spring. I don’t mind the cold – it’s the white stuff that bugs me. And lazy neighbors… Life is good. |
| Ugh! More snow overnight…I’m quickly tiring of this winter. Boy, when I was a kid, winter was my favorite season of the year: sledding, snowball fights, snowmen, snow days – that’s when snow days meant fun. Now snow days mean frustration. Oh, well, only two months to go until the calendar says it’s spring. It’s very cold here so the snow was light and fluffy. I thought about going out to the grassy area and flopping down on my back to make a snow angel, but was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back up, so I nixed that idea. Besides, who knows who didn’t clean up after their dog in that spot… I’m still waiting for the prices of citrus to rise. For the past few weeks I’ve been buying grapefruits and navel oranges at the farmers’ market: five grapefruits for 99 cents, eight navels for $1.99. I get them home and break them apart to make fruit salad that I have each morning. Prepared orange/grapefruit salad at the market runs $3.99/pound, so I’m saving some money by doing it myself. It’s a pain – especially the grapefruits – but it’s worth it. I have this nifty little grapefruit knife I bought from amazon – it’s easier than using a paring knife. So until the prices rise, I’m enjoying my bowl of citrus each day. Other than that, it’s been quiet here at The Home. Life is good. |
| Ugh! The Home was evacuated yesterday for a fire emergency. It was quite exciting: one hook-and-ladder and one regular fire engine filled the parking lot along with several ambulances and three police cars. One would have thought the building was blazing away with residents jumping for their lives from windows somewhat high above the ground. In reality, Mrs. Park in 306 left a pot on her stove again; it cooked dry and set off the building fire alarm. I heard that was the second time in two years she’d done that. Someone mentioned if she does it a third time, she’ll be evicted. Hmm, a three-fire-alarms-and-you’re-out rule? I guess this one was pretty bad. Each apartment has a smoke detector, but there must be something else that sends an alarm to the fire house because I’ve heard smoke detectors go off now and then, but the fire people don’t appear. Perhaps ALL signals go to the fire house and they monitor the amount of time it goes off and after a lengthy period they respond? I can’t believe that’s true because my next-door neighbor’s detector was going off for five-and-a-half hours a while back while she was “making eggs” and no fire emergency personnel stormed The Home. In any case, after about 50 minutes outside in the moist, we were let back in. Now The Home is safe and secure once again. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Well, our meet-and-greet with the activities director got canceled yesterday due to inclement weather. It’s been rescheduled for next week. I didn’t hear too many grumbles about the cancellation, so maybe there isn’t much interest being generated by last week’s announcement. We didn’t get much snow – instead we got the dreaded ice storm. Ugh. I went out in the afternoon to clear my car of the crusty stuff, and in the process broke my heavy-duty ice scraper. Sigh. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to drive anywhere, and, the temperatures rose enough to turn everything to rain, so it all washed away. More snow in the forecast for Friday. Ugh. I mentioned yesterday about Harley’s passing. The news was reported to me by Earl. I affectionately refer to him as Doom-and-Gloom Earl because he gets this strange delight in bearing bad news; he even gets a little gleam in one eye and sports a half-smile as he relates whatever tragedy he has heard about. Earl always seems to have some inside information from firsthand experience – no matter the news story. It’s comical in a way, because half the time he talks nonsense and conspiracies. When he is confronted with a true version of something, he clams up and walks away… I’m ready for spring. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Sad news to report: Harley passed away over the weekend. She was Billie’s 15-year-old pug. I had seen them outside on Saturday…Billie told me that she’d had Harley to the vet and that she should start thinking about having her put down. It’s sad, but at least Harley was with Billie when her time came. We residents here at The Home don’t have much, so when a companion is lost, it leaves a big hole in our small apartments. I know firsthand…shortly after I moved in, I lost my Miss Bessie Smith, my mutt cat. She was two months shy of her 21st birthday. I sequestered myself for a few weeks, but in time, the pain passed and I ventured out again. I hope Billie will still continue to come outdoors now and then; she is one person here at The Home that doesn’t complain about everything. I enjoy talking with her. I’m not one for knocking on others’ doors to chit-chat, but if I don’t see her after a few days, I may stop by her apartment to see how she’s doing. Time alone is probably good for her right now to reflect on Harley and come to grips with an emptier abode. Sitting outside yesterday, I reflected on my neighbors. The ones I know are pet owners; I see them when they walk their pets outdoors. Inside we all pretty much keep to ourselves. Yes, there is a community room, but it’s rarely used. The only other places I see fellow Homers are the laundry room (occasionally) and in the lobby where the mailboxes are located. Other than that, it’s merely a building of hallways and closed apartment doors… In a way, I like that. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Opened a bag of newly bought flour on Saturday only to find it had bugs. Yuk. I should take it back to the store, but I didn’t want it sitting around infesting other foodstuffs, so I just chucked it down the trash chute. I didn’t know flour bugs were still around! On a brighter note, we’re halfway through the month and I still have money in my bank account! Yay! Since I’ve been smoking only outdoors, I’ve cut down considerably on smoke smell in apartment and spending money on gas to go buy them and to purchase them. With my new-found wealth, last week I got my new coffee grinder I ordered from amazon along with whole-bean orange-flavored coffee. It’s yummy, but now I’m waiting to hear a complaint from my next-door neighbor about the noise the grinder makes when I use it each morning. She must have bat ears! Maybe I’ll invite her in for a cuppa. Naaah…I want the coffee all to myself. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I recently read that a museum is opening soon in town. Not just any museum, but a hospital museum. Acck, the building in which I was born is now going to be a place for people to visit to see “how things were done long ago" in the medical arena. Ugh. Ugh. My birthplace has been reduced to a showcase of antiquity… Actually, I’m surprised they didn’t raze the thing. The hospital complex has grown by leaps and bounds over the past few decades. The little brick building I was born in sits in the center of a vast medical campus – it seems insignificant compared to the glass and steel towers surrounding it now. In a way it looks infantile…much like I was during a thunderstorm on that hot July day so long ago. Oh well, considering the alternative, I can live with this… (I wonder if I can get free admission if I show my birth certificate.) Life is good. |
| Ugh! There was a notice from the management here at The Home put under our doors yesterday. Apparently to lift “morale” here, the management folks hired an activities director. A meet-and-greet session is planned for next week. Yippee. I’ll go see what she’s all about. It’d be nice if she could provide or encourage something fun to pass the hours here. It might prove to be interesting, but my experience has shown the residents at The Home are not much for group activity – other than complaining about everything. I sure hope she knows what she’s gotten herself into! Perhaps she’ll serve as a pseudo-cruise director for this Titanic? I’m going to suggest hopscotch on alternate Thursday afternoons in the parking lot…followed by Swedish massages in the community room on the second floor, which could serve as a makeshift triage center for those of us who break a hip. On another note, also yesterday I watched “The Kite Runner.” I highly recommend it, so if you have the chance to view it, do so! The sub-theme concerns a writer, which is something all of us at WDC can relate to… Life is good. |
| Ugh! I think I am going to experiment with Depends. I’m aggravated when I’m awakened in the middle of the night with the urge to pee and I toss and turn not wanting to get out of bed but at the same time knowing the feeling won’t go away, yet in that “stupid state” between wakefulness and sleep, it makes perfect sense to see if the feeling will go away and it never does so eventually I give up, get out of bed, stumble to the bathroom, pee, get back into bed and then can’t get back to sleep despite not turning on any lights to prevent just such an occurrence. How much easier it would be to just lie there, roll my eyes, sigh, and go back to sleep. Until then…here’s something I found: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVm-HwAkVp8 “Slide, Ed, slide!” Life is good. |
| Ugh! Snow in the forecast again for today and tomorrow – a Nor’Easter; they’re the worst types of storms to hit this part of Pennsylvania: the storms form in the south and move up the East Coast and combine with cold air flowing down from Canada. During the summer, they can produce almost hurricane-type conditions; in winter, they have the potential to dump tons of the white stuff. I’m so glad I don’t have to shovel snow anymore. The maintenance folks here at The Home do a good job of clearing the walkways and parking lot. I enjoy chatting with them as I step outside for a smoke. Invariably we talk about past storms and “how bad it was” then compared to today. Yesterday’s NYT crossword puzzle had a clue: 54-across (6 letters) – old-fashioned copies… The correct answer was “dittos” but I had filled in “mimeos” until I realized it was wrong. It reminded me of those long-ago days sitting in class when a pop quiz was announced. All the groans were soon quieted as we passed the quizzes to the person behind by INHALING the fumes of the ink. Ahh, the good old days. (Wonder how much brain damage was done with those things?) Apple crumb pie in the oven. It should smell pretty good here at The Home erelong… not the mimeo smell, but I wouldn’t mind a dose of that! Today’s date is 11111…doo-doo-doo-dooooo… Life is good. |
| Ugh! It snowed here at The Home again on Saturday. Pretty much a nuisance-type snow, on top of the nuisance-type snow we had on Friday. Two nuisances make for a big pain… So, I watched “South Pacific” to take me away someplace more temperate. But, I didn’t watch the movie; instead, it was a production done at Carnegie Hall a few years ago – no stage sets, just an orchestra and people singing with scripts. I like the music and it did the trick. Actually, when it does snow here, I enjoy sitting inside and looking out my windows at the snow wafting down. I’m on the third floor so all I see is the tops of the bare flowering pear trees in front of the grey sky; the mountain off in the distance disappears during inclement weather, making my world smaller. I feel cozy. Of course, I have to have my windows open since my immediate neighbors crank up their heat. All in all, not a bad day. “Bali Hai” Life is good. |
| Ugh! Yesterday I ran out to my farmers’ market to pick up chicken, shrimp and sausage to make jambalaya. I usually make it around Mardi Gras; I’m hungry for it now, so I’m making it “off season.” The cooking police can run me in for breaking the rules, but I’m standing hard and firm by my decision to buck the calendar. When I got to the parking lot, it was almost full. Odd for mid-week – it’s usually only crowded like that on weekends. I sighed and waited for a shopping cart. It baffled me why it was so busy. Then I overheard two old women chatting as they waited for available shopping carts, too: “Snowstorm Friday.” Ahah! The weather forecast – sure to send shivers down the spines of the weakest of us in this region. I swear the weather people get kickbacks from grocery stores for bad-weather reports. The local Mickey-Mouse television station employs terror-inducing weather people. If there is a CHANCE of a snow flurry, just a chance mind you, they say, “We have to watch this VERY CAREFULLY.” Those ominous words send alarm warnings throughout the immediate area and people flock to grocery stores, hardware stores, drug stores, and liquor stores. C’mon, people. This is 2011. Our road crews know how to deal with snowstorms. It’s not like the old days when we really did have to be concerned about any impending storm. I’m old enough to recall being snowed in for a week before the plows got to our neighborhood, but that was back in the early 60s. Unless we’re going to be hit with something like 60 inches of the white stuff, I’m pretty sure we’re going to survive a day without access to the store. As I made my way through the aisles, I noticed peoples’ carts filled with GALLONS of milk, LOAVES of bread, BOXES of cereal, and ROLLS of toilet paper. (Okay, I can understand the last one…no one wants to be caught short in that department!) And, almost all the bananas were gone. Bananas?? Once I checked out (long wait), I got into my car and heard the radio weather guy’s report: a “chance” of 1-3 inches on Friday. That’s baby stuff. Why the chaos? It wonders me… I got home and unpacked my rice, spices, shrimp, chicken, sausage, and herbs along with my GALLON of milk, LOAF of bread, two BOXES of cereal, six ROLLS of toilet paper… Accck…I’ve become one of them! Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow… Life is good. |
| Ugh! My mind plays tricks on me sometimes lately, such as: “Heavy riders of mass transit will have to pay more next year. Details at six.” The words wafted from the television as I stuffed the chicken in my kitchen one day last week. I thought, “How rude!” as I crammed more of the bread/chestnut/cranberry mixture into the back end of the fowl on the countertop. I made a mental note to watch the six-o’clock news and find out the name of the producer so I could send a complaint about being more sensitive and responsible in reporting. The stuffed bird went into the oven and I tidied up the mess left behind. Throughout the afternoon, I occasionally basted the hen with its own juices, all the time slowly steaming about the incredulous words I’d heard earlier. Yes, it’s true: we are, as a rule, becoming rounder as a nation. It seems that the more prosperous we become, the fatter we grow. But, to charge more for mass transit? That seemed a bit harsh. Let’s face it – we don’t get as much exercise as we did in the past. For instance, take the remote control. Years ago when one wanted to change the channel on the television or adjust the volume (or whack it on the side to get better reception), one had to extricate oneself from one’s couch, stand up, walk across the room, stoop down, reach forward, rotate the wrist, pull back, turn around, walk back across the room, crouch down and sit again. That’s eleven steps to complete one task. Eleven! Count ‘em. Now that entire procedure is reduced to one push of the thumb. Yes, some say progress is good, but at what cost? We are becoming a nation of pushers – push to change the channel, push to raise the volume, push to turn on the microwave, push to make a phone call… If we could just pull some of the time we could counteract the flabbiness attained from pushing every time we want something. Way back in high school I learned that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Well, when we push all the time, the reaction is flabbiness. We have to counteract that with some pulling now and then. Even with my chicken, I pushed the stuffing into the fowl. Pushing is relatively easy; pulling requires some exertion, which in turn results in physical activity somewhat more strenuous than mere pushing. Getting back to the news teaser… Six o’clock rolled around. The news broadcast led off with the story about increased fares. Only now, the anchorperson read, “Frequent riders of mass transit will have to pay more next year.” Huh? Frequent? What happened to heavy? My anger and disappointment melted away when I realized my error in thought. Is “heavy” the appropriate substitute for “frequent?” I’ll have to wait for the weather forecast, because the teaser for the last portion of the newscast said, “Heavy snow is possible by the weekend.” Life is good. |
| Ugh! I think I found out who could have received the five cases of beer for Christmas here at The Home. It might be Larry in 103, right off the lobby. Yesterday on one of my trips outside for a smoke, he was sitting in a chair in the lobby wearing Bermuda shorts, flip-flops, and a Mexican hat with ball fringe. Nothing more. (And he should have been wearing more, if you get my drift…) He didn’t say anything as I strolled past. Perhaps it was his siesta? Strange – it was 9:30 a.m. I don’t think he’s Mexican, but I could be wrong. Does Mexico celebrate something on January 4? I Google’d “Mexico January 4” and just got a bunch of travel deals and weather forecasts. And he doesn’t look Mexican. I’m not one of those “profilers” the TSA uses at airports, though. If I saw him walking through an airport, I would peg him as “lost” if anything. He just has this look about him that makes you want to ask him if he needs help. His appearance definitely does not scream terrorist. Although, that would probably make him a good terrorist, wouldn’t it? We don’t have any real screening here at The Home. There are no armed security agents or concierge desk. There are two big planters outside the main doors that could be considered “deterrents” against vehicles trying to storm the place, but in reality are where petunias are planted during the summer. The Home is most likely not a high priority on the Terror Alert Level system at Homeland Security. We’re probably way down on the list after White Castle and Ed’s Muffler Service out on Willow Park Road. Heck, even if we’re on the “call list” to be notified in the event of something about to happen, chances are we wouldn’t learn of it because The Home’s management people are hardly ever in the office and when they do communicate with us they slip a piece of paper under our doors announcing some new policy. I don’t think metal detectors or pat-downs are necessary here at The Home. We’re a pretty reliable bunch, and for the most part, we trust one another. Although, now that I think about it, there is a big sign on the main door: “DON’T LET ANYONE IN UNLESS YOU KNOW THEM. DOING SO COULD RESULT IN LEASE TERMINATION.” I’ll have to wear my glasses on my next cigarette foray to read the fine print. It’s probably signed by Janet Napolitano, Secretary of Homeland Security… Or the management. [50 years ago today, “Mister Ed” TV show premiered!] Life is good. |
| Ugh! For the past few days, there is a car in the parking lot here at The Home that is parked crooked in the parking slots it chooses to park in. I don’t know who owns the car, but I suspect it might be the person who was gifted with five cases of beer over Christmas holiday. Parking is already sometimes a hassle – we certainly don’t need someone under the influence cruising through the lot trying to fit a car between the yellow lines… Most of us already have problems seeing over the steering wheel anyway! (Just kidding.) One day last week, my next-door neighbor (literally next-door – like two feet away) caught up to me in the lobby when I was coming inside from a smoke – she was headed out to the dumpster with an empty plastic bag (?). She told me that she heard me running my washing machine between 5 and 6 a.m. two days before Christmas and that it kept her awake – she mentioned her bedroom is adjacent to my kitchen. “Could you please do your wash after 8 a.m.?” she asked. I apologized and went on my way. I didn’t want to cause problems. Number one, I don’t have a washing machine in my apartment. No one here at The Home does; the laundry room is located on the first floor – we’re on the third. Number two, her bedroom is NOT adjacent to my kitchen. I know this because a few months ago, I had to knock on her door after listening to her smoke alarm beeping incessantly for five-and-a-half hours one morning. I was checking on her to make sure she was all right. When she answered her door, she breathlessly told me she was making eggs and her alarm always goes off when she makes eggs. Breathless? Huh? Making eggs for five-and-a-half hours? I did note when her door was opened that her kitchen and living room were straight ahead; her bedroom was off to the right – my apartment is to the left of hers. I’m awaiting word from the management people concerning her complaint. Maybe she already spoke with them and they realize the problem is with her and not me? I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. And I hope she doesn’t make eggs again any time soon… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Gas prices are rising again…just when they seemed to be pretty much steady around $2.75/gal, they’ve begun creeping up again. Now it’s $3.09/gal here in this part of Pennsylvania. And I understand the price of produce is going to skyrocket because of bad weather in various parts of the country. Happy New Year! New Year’s Eve found me falling asleep about 8 p.m. So much for the party animal here at The Home. I slept the whole night through, so that was good. Got up New Year’s Day and prepared my pork and sauerkraut, put it in the oven, finally gave up on the New York Times crossword puzzle after 75 minutes, and watched a bit of the Penn State v. Florida football game on TV. All my windows were opened because it got up to 50F. Very strange…considering a week ago it was like ArcticLand here. On one of my cigarette forays on New Year’s Day, I caught up with Billie sans Harley. We sat on the bench outside and chatted as she coughed continuously. It was a nice conversation…discovered we both have the same birthday: July 20. Odd. I say odd because this has happened to me before – I mean having someone with the same birthday. Back in the 70s, I worked for a bank in Central Pennsylvania. That year on my birthday, I noticed two cakes were brought in to the break room – one for me and one for “Kathy” – I didn’t know who “Kathy” was. Turns out she was new and had the same birthday as me. It was the first time I met someone with my birthday. But, the weird thing was was that she was born on the same day and year as me! Our birthdays were actually 11 hours apart. (She was older.) (And she looked it.) I got transferred to a small branch of that bank – we had five employees. Three of us had July birthdays: July 18, July 19, and July 20. How weird is that? Instead of having several birthday parties spread throughout the year, we were stuck with three parties in one week. Sad. At my last job, I worked in a six-person office – it started out as two people, grew to four, then to six over time. When it went from two to four, I recall the day the new secretary arrived. She said, “I always take my birthday off of work.” I replied that I did, too. Since it was such a small office, it wouldn’t be a problem we thought. Then we discovered we both had the same birthday – July 20 – only two years apart. (She was older.) (And, boy, did she ever look it!) Two years later, we both got new bosses within a month of each other. No, they didn’t have birthdays on July 20. But they did share birthdays of November 5! So out of four people, we ended up with only two party days. Sigh. Now that I’ve put all this down on paper (so to speak), I wonder if Billie is being truthful. I mean, I don’t really know her. What if she’s making up the info about her birthday? I have to think about that…it was she who mentioned her birthday being in July. I recall saying mine was, too. I said, “The 20th.” She looked askance for several seconds, then turned to me and said, “Mine, too.” What if this is a ruse? What if she’s expecting a big present from me on the 20th of July? Or a cake? Or, heaven forbid, a dinner invitation? What if she does this with other neighbors? It would be fairly easy to do: work birthdays into everyday conversation, glean that neighbor’s birthday information, then claim that same day as her own birthday? It could happen! Maybe I should ask to see her birth certificate? Would that make me one of those “birther” people – y’know the ones who doubt that Obama was born in the U.S.? I’ll have to keep tabs on who else she talks to and then try to finagle information out of them – and alert them if they’ve shared birthday information with her… Or maybe her birthday really IS July 20. I guess that could be the case. Nevermind. Life is good. |
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no pun intended!
or just need to keep the old frame greased and moving more. Otherwise, the rust sets in and gravity is like a magnet on the iron joints constantly pulling down.