I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
Didn't ICE find the illegal aliens who had secretly landed in our trailer parks and ICE shipped them to an El Salvadorian prison? I thought many of the trailer park inhabitants who resisted will be vacationing at the prison, er renamed Cultural Exchange Theme Park, soon?
When the toe heels it may be time for specially fitted shoes. Broken bones, no matter how small, can create or exacerbate other health issues as one ages.
A Warped Witch I Be Yes, I have family nearby. The lake is also across the road. Water is kinda important, eh? A spoonful of coffee grounds just isn't the same without it. Thanks for commiserating with me.
I'm so sorry to hear you're having such a terrible week. I've gone through the float valve thing at my old house in Maine, it felt like forever before they got it replaced. I bought gallons of water to keep my coffee supply steady. I refilled empty jugs for the toilet from the lake. We were lucky it happened in the summer because bathing was at the lake. I can't imagine doing it in the fall with the temperatures dropping. I never asked if your family lives nearby? Hopefully, you can take care of the essentials there.
Very nicely written. I am a big communicator and if more people would put forth a better effort, it would be a better place. Little acts of kindness truly goes a long way. You have identified it well. I can feel your sincerity coming through your writing. I would like to see more of the younger crowd helping or being involved with the older folks. I know my day goes better when someone has said hi or gives a waves.
I don't care for dark British/Dutch humor. Dislike Monty Python as well. Give me a bittersweet French or Japanese movie or a sad Portuguese song. I'm more introspective.
You were very fortunate. I never really fell into anyone's arms.
I need to reassess my needs. My 'romantic' efforts in Thailand had limited success.
June 14th, 2020, a sunny Sunday spent reflecting... Ack! I just realized I missed yesterday's momentous holiday. How could this have happened? It's not as if I didn't know about this auspicious day. I discovered it during a random Google search for all things June related. It's mind-boggling the things I learn surfing from the comfort of my computer chair. Sigh. I can't believe I missed Sewing Machine Day. As if... How does one celebrate Sewing Machine Day? Is there a Hallmark greeting card? I do hope there's a card for belatedness. Hmmm, is that even a word? Should I have taken a sewing machine out for lunch? Could I phone a florist and order a bouquet of flowers? What flowers are associated with this? Forget-me-nots? Oh, I know. Are there flowers known as buttons? Do sewing machines like gifts? Should I purchase thread, or a new needle? Here's the thing. I do not actually share my home with a sewing machine. Am I expected to go find a suitable machine and offer to spend time with it? Are there borrowing agencies similar to a library? Could I sign one out? What would we do to pass the time? I don't speak 'sewingnese'.I'm not adept with one either. Oh, my maternal grandmother earned a living as a seamstress and she attempted to school me in all things sewing machine. I balked. I resisted. My mind blanked. I failed to learn anything useful. Over and over, Nanny showed me how to thread the machine, and over and over the thread would snap and I'd forget her patient instructions. The thread had to be passed through a doohickey and then a whatchamacallit. Somewhere, it twisted 'round a thingamabob and headed for the needle. Yes, I recognized the shiny, pointy, moving thing as a needle. Oh, and under the needle inside a port lay a bobbin. A fun word to say, yet still a mystery to me. Why did the thread insist upon breaking? And if by some miracle it stayed temporarily attached, why did the thread snarl? Ugh! Here is where I confess that I am not the least bit coordinated. Rarely have all four of my limbs cooperated as a cohesive team. To operate a sewing machine one of my feet had to control a foot pedal, the floor-placed gizmo my Nanny did not like my calling an accelerator. To describe it as finicky is an understatement. I'm certain the wee bit of pressure exerted by my baby toe caused it to rev and race. Holding my breath did not help. I never liked the sharp needle whirring up and down. I did grasp the concept of feeding cloth to the needle, but I never placed my vulnerable fingers anywhere near it. I suppose this explained the bunching and thread knots. Despite my poor efforts, my seams were never what anyone could deem straight. That sewing machine and I never developed a rapport, an understanding. I still believe it smelled my fear. Perhaps missing Sewing Machine Day is for the best. I enjoy a wonderful life free of this contraption and I do not wish for my status quo to unravel. Thanks Nanny, we know I'm no sewing machine wrangler. Carrie adopted your ol' work horse and she has stitched together a mutually beneficial partnership. Over the years, she has offered to set me up with that machine, but I refused to accept. It's thriving in its present home. Why sever their common thread?
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