August 31, 2022
I used to keep a pair of gloves
on the microwave, in my kitchen. These are the kind of gloves that you can
purchase at the dollar store, just simple cloth gloves one would wear in winter.
And I kept them there because if I needed to dig through my freezer for
something, which is also in my kitchen, I could use those gloves and save my
hands from the cold.
And whenever my daughter would
do a deep clean of the kitchen, she would put those gloves…. Somewhere else. Even
after I explained to her there was a really good reason for them to be there,
and that I wasn’t just an old woman on the road to dementia. And, yes that was
a little passive aggressive, I admit it. Anyway, when I looked last Saturday
morning, there once more were no gloves on the microwave. Which was why, on
this past weekend, the part of the task called “reorganizing the freezer” that
took the longest to perform was finding a pair of gloves to wear in August.
In the days when I had two of
my grandchildren early morning a lot of days before school, I used to keep a
plethora of these gloves. I kept them in a bag that hung from the coat hooks in
my entrance hall. Those two grandkids were forever losing their gloves, and so in
September, as soon as those gloves became available at the dollar store, I would
purchase a dozen pairs….and would likely have to get more just after Christmas,
too. But this was at the dollar store so not a great expense.
Also generally stocked in that
area of my entrance hallway: umbrellas. Yup, they’d take them to school, and
then home again, but those bumbershoots never generally found their way back
here. But I digress.
I finally checked one of my
coat pockets, and really, that should have been the first place I looked. Ah,
getting older. The mind doesn’t always work as consistently well as one would
like.
Monday night gave us a fierce
if short thunderstorm. A close lightning strike reset our television, something
that would have been a cause for concern before this whole TV via the internet system
we have now. I knew that even if my television was out due to the storm and
stayed out, the program I wanted to watch would still be recorded. Life is so
much better when you don’t sweat the small stuff.
Time moves so quickly. Some
days can seem long, but the weeks just zoom past. Here we are, the last day of
August already! And yet, it has seemed like a very long summer. I think having
so many days that were hot and muggy added to that impression. When you spend
your time annoyed with how things are, they seem to stick around longer.
Another digression: I’ve also
discovered that’s how pain works, too. The more I focus on it, the worse it
seems. Keeping my mind active and busy with other things is one of the most
important analgesics out there. And you don’t need a prescription, or the attendant
nosy pharmacist, which is bonus.
Next week the school buses
return to our neighborhood. Our house is on a corner, so it’s no surprise that
we have a school bus stop close by. My daughter’s bigger dogs—if I’ve neglected
to ease that one recliner back a bit from the window—bark like crazy when they get
up on the back of that chair, nose that curtain aside, and see the group of
children gathering there each day. Because let’s be honest. Even those
chihuahuas of hers know that so many kids in one place can’t possibly be good.
Next weekend our daughter and
I are going to go shopping to pick up a few school supplies for her
grandchildren, and to acquire a few more items on our preparedness list. Most
often, if two people leave this house to go out, it’s daddy and daughter. They
like to seek out garage sales, or visit different stores, and of course, have
breakfast out. I don’t often feel left out when these outings occur. Nine times
out of ten will I choose to be home, rather than to go out. But, ah, there is
that tenth time!
I would rather not have the
constant serenading of dogs when daddy and daughter sojourn forth, however. Aside
from preferring to be home, I have also always maintained that silence truly is
golden.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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