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.
Witchy Woman 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.
September 25th prompt: family gathering: Aunt Bessie and Uncle Clyde are enroute, one is bringing a sweet potato pie and the other one's bringing ham hocks and greens...BUT the two of them haven't spoken in 20 years, What happens?? SIDE NOTE: The local Hydro is acting up as it pours rain. So far today, the power has disappeared twice, so I hope I am able to type up my blog and post it. Here goes my effort...fingers crossed... Chased out of the hot kitchen because I sampled more than I stirred and banished to the front porch to act as the spotter / greeter, I had time to sit and think. Before I'd been shooed away and swatted with a dish towel I'd heard the scuttlebutt about two long-absent relatives, Bessie and Clyde. They'd not been together at the same family gathering for twenty years. Now for some reason they were both expected to be present at this Thanksgiving celebration, two strangers to me, two senior citizens, two feuding kinfolk. Would there be fireworks? I anticipated an argument with shouting and name calling. Perhaps plates would be flung through the air and shatter on the floor. I could see a frantic, furious food fight, mashed potato missiles splattering on contact, gelatinous jiggly cranberry sauce-slime sliding down the walls forming red pools, green b-b shot peas pinging and plopping. A car door slams and I hear a shout. "Ahoy young lady. Can you give me a hand?" As I scramble to the unfamiliar figure of a white-bearded man struggling to exit a boat of a black sedan, he bellows, "I'm Clyde. Did they warn you I was coming?" I can't help myself. I grin. He loops his arm around one of mine and hands me a still warm pie. I steal a quick sniff. "It's my world famous sweet potato pie. Wait 'til you taste it. You'll be begging for the recipe." Recipe, that word tugged at me. Aha, right, that had been the contention, the strife between Bessie and Clyde. I settled Clyde and his pie in the kitchen happy to join in the flowing conversation. Returning to the porch I discover a round woman, a grey woman, panting and perched on a step. Clutched in her lap is a casserole dish. "Hi. You must be Bessie. We're expecting you. Can I carry that for you?" The decisive shake of her head surprises me. She does however proffer a hand and I pull her to her unsteady feet. Together we totter to the hub of activity. I gaze around and hold my breath.Clyde half rises from a chair knocking over a steaming mug of coffee. The sudden silence gives way to sidelong glances. I stand still and clench my jaw. Bessie deposits her ceramic dish on the counter next to Clyde's pie with a clatter. Next she shrugs out of her coat and Clyde catches it before it hits the floor. "What are y'all gawping at? Isn't anyone going to greet me?" Several throats coughed and ahemed. Clyde spoke first. "Hello Bessie, long time no see." All eyes stared, no one dared blink, as Bessie turned to the man she hadn't spoken to in twenty years. Clyde flinched. Bessie's brow furrowed. She opened and closed her mouth a few times. One foot tapped on the tile floor. The knitted scarf she'd been fiddling with slipped from her hands and crumpled at her feet. I bent to retrieve it. "Do I know you? Have we met? Are you here for Thanksgiving, too? I brought ham hocks and greens. Is that okay?"
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