In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
I forgot what I thought I wanted to write about. That's what happens when too much time passes between Ah-ha-I've-something-to write and turning on the computer, which may only be a matter of climbing the stairs to the office. Obviously it wasn't anything worth saying out loud. Ever wonder if you've said or written something that was quoted by others? Wouldn't that be cool? Yesterday our governor (in California) urged all of us, senior citizens, to stay put in our homes so that we won't risk contracting the coronavirus. The Husband and I pretty much hunker down most of the time, so this suggested decree is not a burden. Although I did panic for a moment when I thought we might not pay our property tax bill on time because the bank and the tax office may suddenly close. Then it came to me that we can use a credit car to pay online or over the phone. I'd rather not, so I may suggest to the Husband that we go out in the world sooner rather than l
As the Husband and I were starting to unwind into our evening relax mode, I thought about the grumpy ladies guarding the fair's quilt and sewing division's submissions when I went to pick up my entries an hour or so earlier. "Oh no!" Down thumped my feet from the hassock. "I forgot my elephant!" Off the Husband and I scampered back into must-get-things-done mode. The fairgrounds is only seven miles away so it was not a big deal to go back, especially since the first time out I caught a ride with a friend who was also fetching her entries. Back at the fairgrounds, I wondered if the grumpy ladies wouldn't give me my elephant because I didn't have my claim check. All six or seven women, middle-aged and older, sitting in chairs and around a table, looked at me. All long-time sewers and quilters, no doubt. Gulp. "I'm picking up my textile," I said, knowing right away that's the wrong term. Amateur, I am. "A wall hangi
Oh-oh, it's the 20th. I wrote December 19 on all the forms this morning at my Hello, Welcome to your Medicare Advantage Plan appointment, as well as later at the laboratory. On the lab forms, I caught myself writing 2019. Hahaha, I wonder if I did that on the doctor's forms as well. The appointment was my official introduction to senior citizen health questions. Very different types of questions. This particular Medicare Advantage plan wanted to make sure I'm not feeling alone and lonely, nor chronically sad or depressed. They also asked questions to determine if I have my mental faculties, including asking me to write in the digits on a faceless clock and draw hands to show 11:10. I had no problem with the questions, but, I wonder if they'll take points off because I wrote the wrong date. hee-heee. I'm actually feeling quite euphoric because of my positive experience. 1. All the healthcare practitioners and support staff I met were friendly and helpful i
Hey, ya. Hi, ya. How ya? Imagine a Lilo smile (Lilo, as in Lilo and Stitch , a 2002 Disney movie). That is how I'm feeling. Also a bit foggy brained and weary boned from all the week-long fun of turning 65! years old. That, dear blogging friends, is why I have been quiet in my corner of the world. For my birthday gift, the Husband and I rented a car to travel beyond 25-year-old Eliza Does-alot's comfort radius, as well as drive after sunset, if need be. Eliza's headlights do not compete with today's head beams, which blind me into a panic. The Husband doesn't even try driving at night, thank goodness. We drove the rental, a silver 2019 (oh my!) Nissan Sentra we called Sedgwick, on narrow mountain roads, unpaved back roads, smooth freeways, and bumpy highways. And, I was able to drive home at night, without using my high beams. I felt like a younger self. Spontaneity. Go with the flow. I discovered that I can still do both. Hurrah! We spent my birthday
"You got something official from Medicare," said The Husband, going through the mail the other day. "Be sure you open it up and read it." "Yeah, yeah." "You tear up envelopes without looking inside. This may be important," he cautioned. "I'm putting it on the table." "Uh-huh." Yesterday, the letter caught my eye. It did look very official, so I ripped the envelope open rather than in half. "It's my Medicare card!" The Husband patted my shoulder. Wowza! Medicare won't kick in for another three months. It is nice to know the organization has its ducks in the row. Now, I need to get mine in a row and choose the best Medicare plan for me. Thank you, President Lyndon B. Johnson!
The Husband and I went to our first true senior citizen thing this morning—an event specifically catered to old folks. It was a senior citizen brunch hosted by our local hospital's volunteer group. We wouldn't have known about it, nor gone, if it weren't for our friends, the Mister & Missus H, for which, I believe, this was also their first exclusive senior citizen event. For two bucks (you heard right), we got coffee, orange juice and whatever we wanted at the buffet table, which included scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, French toast, steamed veggies, chicken and artichoke in gravy (think biscuit and white gravy without the biscuit), cottage cheese, peaches, and Mandarin oranges. We ahhhh'd when the gals running the show announced that the hospital had also sent over an extra treat of coffee cake for us. Two bucks a person! Probably the last time we could buy a hearty breakfast for that amount was in the 1970s. These days, it's about $15 per pe