A Good Blog Post if I Can Remember It


My son calls Jeopardy the “old people” show. I started watching it five years ago when I took in my older sister to care for her. Now she lives in a home, and my son took her place last year. Actually, that’s not true, because she was in my daughter’s old bedroom, and he’s in my sewing room. I could’ve donated a ton of fabric and had them both at the same time.

Last night on Jeopardy I threw my arms up when I got the right answer to this one.  A Kentucky bourbon is 40% alcohol.  A number and word follow it in parentheses.

“What is 80 proof?” I blurted out.

None of the contestants knew the answer.

“What is 80 proof?” Mayim Bialik said.

I danced in my chair (it pays to be a former bartender). Normally I would jump out of my chair, but today I did too much cleaning. I scrubbed my kitchen during the entire January 6th hearing, so I could listen to it and multi-task.  I even bleached the yucky grout with Soft Scrub, letting it sit there while I ate my lunch.

These little victories become more important as we age.  I see a face and can’t remember the name that goes with it. Is Cindy’s boyfriend Paul? Tom?  She passes me at the party. I ask her. She reminds me it’s Greg. Why can’t I remember that? I invite Connie to the Beatles band concert not once, not twice, but four times. She has a conflict nd turns me down yet again. I can’t remember anything.

I am not alone in my forgetfulness. Grace asks me how the Blood, Sweat and Tears cover band was.

“Do you mean Earth, Wind and Fire?” I ask.

We both laugh. Sometimes aging is a bit funy.  She got the number of syllables right and the cadence.  She did it again with Chicago, calling it Santana, again the right number of syllables and accent.

I had a great blog post idea yesterday as I was driving around after the hearing, to visit my fave thrift stores. Two of them were closed on Tuesdays. Three more were open. I hit the mother lode of tea cups at one place and got some interesting stuff at another, including some pool balls. Both places had a senior discount for me, although the second place didn’t ask, and she had to redo the sale.

“You don’t look like a senior,” the Asian woman said.

‘It’s called hair dye,” I said. “Plus, I’m wearing a mask which covers up my wrinkles.”

I bought bananas, avocados, and something else (what was it?) at the gocery store and headed home by way of the beach. I filled up the green can again after the garbage truck emptied it today. Those foxtails will last forever. I can only weed so much per day. Otherwise, my neck goes out, and I get dizzy.

I’m not complaining. I saw a guy at a party the other night. I hadn’t seen him since before COVID. He’s in bad shape after having a medical event, passing out and being found by the fire department 16 hours later. His elderly mother alerted them. He spent 50 days in the hospital and now has an arm issue since that’s where he landed when he passed out.  

He’s happy to be alive. Bad stuff can happen to us oldies.  We should all be so grateful about being here.

Frosting. It was frosting that I bought along with bananas and avocados. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll remember.

Or as Grace would have called it, butter.

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