Baby You Can Drive My Car
When Bill and I traveled to Chicago this past week, we parked our car at a hotel near the airport and took their shuttle to DIA. The shuttle driver picked us up shortly after we called. He was a pleasant fellow who chatted almost ceaselessly with us since we were sitting in the front of the bus. We didn’t mind because he was very nice and quite informative. After we had established that we were BFFs, I said to him, “I imagine when you have a day off, the last thing you want to do is drive.” He looked at me with some surprise and told me that he LOVED to drive and never got tired of it. Now that’s a concept I simply can’t understand. I drive every day. I probably put several hundred miles on my car each week, give or take. I hope I can continue to drive for a long while yet. But I never, EVER, enjoy it. Never have. Never will. If I go to purgatory (or worse) after I die, my punishment will be driving a bus day in and day out.
Filling My Brain
As we were driving home from the airport after we had retrieved our car, Bill mentioned something about the boondocks. I don’t remember what we were talking about. Anyway, he went on to ask me if I remembered the old song Down in the Boondocks. Not only do I remember it (Billy Joe Royal), but I can recall every single word of the song, and proceeded to sing it to Bill. Undoubtedly that was a joy for him. But after I completed my tune (People put me down ‘cause that’s the side of town I was born in….), it occurred to me that I use a considerable number of brain cells remembering the words to old tunes from the 1950s and 60s. I also can remember old phone numbers (Columbus home phone number 564-5773, Columbus bakery number 564-7431, believe me, I could go on). And yet I call each of my grandkids by a name that isn’t theirs, generally Addie; but I call Addie by Kaiya’s name. Go figure. Bill assures me I don’t have to worry because I have a huge number of brain cells available, but still…..
Ode to Acting Old
Yesterday afternoon at Walmart, I’m afraid I performed a perfect old-person act, and when I say perfect, I mean perfectly embarrassing. There was a young mother and her 3-ish-old child in front of me in line. She had groceries on the conveyor belt, but there was a 2 foot area with no groceries. Without giving it a thought, I put up the dividing bar and began loading my groceries onto the conveyor belt. The young woman said nothing, and it wasn’t until I had ALL OF MY GROCERIES loaded onto the belt that I noticed she had an entire grocery cart left to check out. Ladies and gentlemen, she wasn’t done putting her groceries onto the belt. I apologized profusely in that way that old people do when they screw up. She was perfectly nice, but I can imagine that she was thinking, “Seriously Old Woman? You didn’t see an entire OVERFLOWING cart of groceries?” Furthermore, because my groceries were taking up the entire conveyor belt, she had to hand her groceries from that cart one-by-one to the checker. At one point the transfer of a 40-oz bottle of Gatorade wasn’t successful, and it fell onto the floor, spilling everywhere. Orange Gatorade. By the way, it wasn’t over yet for the poor young woman. As I was making my biscotti yesterday afternoon, I couldn’t find the bag of dried cranberries I KNEW I had purchased. All of a sudden, I realized that they had probably tumbled onto the woman’s groceries. She will get home and wonder where in the heck the dried cranberries came from. Oh yeah, she’ll think. The crazy old lady. Sigh.
Bill and I flew home from Chicago on Frontier Airlines, and we had the funniest seats. This, by the way, is a follow up to my post earlier this week about flying. The seats were stationary, reclining not at all, and were hard as rocks. But the funniest things were the trays. They were no more than 10 inches by 4 inches and literally barely fit my glass and my can. Not all of the rows had these particular seats, but our row and the row behind us were so blessed. Perhaps we were guinea pigs. I vote no.
I bought $45 dollars’ worth of petunias yesterday. I always put different colored petunias in the little garden area that lines our fountain in the back yard. Every summer I simply love the colors and the garden makes me happy. But man, there is simply not a job I dislike more than planting my petunias. I do them a few at a time, making the job bearable.