DOES THE MORE, THE MERRIER APPLY TO SENIOR MOMENTS?

 

More is better, I’m told, so I guess I’m getting better by the day. Only weeks shy of my 81st birthday, my senior moments seem to be multiplying.

Heading out on an errand recently, I grabbed what I thought was my water bottle. It wasn’t. It was two pork chops we had put out to thaw for dinner. I realized my mistake before I got out the door. (Question: If you saw an older neighbor leaving the house with two uncooked pork chops in his hand, should you call the police, mind your own business and keep quiet, or offer to come over for a barbecue?)

Waking up from a nap the other day, I reached for my water bottle to take a drink. Well, it eventually turned into a short drink because I spilled most of the water on my left leg. This was very refreshing on a hot day, and I may start doing this intentionally until cool weather arrives in November. (Question:  If you see an old man pouring water on his leg, should you call the police, mind your own business and keep quiet, or ask him to pour some on you?)

My wife and I say everything to each other at least twice, including “hello” when I first see her on returning from the gym. About once a week when I think Irene has said “hello,” she hasn’t. What she’s really said was “bring up some orange juice from the basement,” which, although I’m not a linguist, has a few more syllables than “hello.” Other mornings when I tell her, “I brought you a roll,” she responds, “Yes, hello.” (Question: Should we call the ear doctor and both make immediate appointments, investigate soundproofing the house so none of the neighbors can hear these conversations or do absolutely no talking until breakfast is over and Irene has eaten her roll and I’ve brought up the orange juice?)

We like rice and frequently have it for dinner. One bag is too much for two people, but we seldom have any left over. That’s because while it’s cooking we’re watching the evening news, and by the time one of us remembers to go to the kitchen the bottom inch of the rice is firmly stuck to the pan. (Question: Should we call the fire department and ask them to recommend a home fire extinguisher, stop watching the evening news or start fixing quinoa and then learn how to pronounce it?)

There is new wallpaper in the room adjoining our bedroom. While I was with Irene when she picked it out, I didn’t pay any attention to what she was selecting. It takes a certain kind of man—frankly one with bad genes—to occupy the premises of a wallpaper store for more than three or four minutes. This wallpaper is bright blue and very cheery, the sort of thing that would go in a baby‘s room. (Question: Should I call the police and ask if I’m in the wrong house, start wearing sunglasses to bed or tell Irene we need to have a long talk one of these mornings about a secret she might want to let me in on?)

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      (This first appeared in the September 2018 issue of the Great South Bay Magazine.)

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            Sachem Library in Holbrook, New York is holding a Fall Festival Saturday, September 15, and writers will be part of the fall fun. I’ll be there, offering a sample from my latest book, “Grandma Told Me Never to Believe Anything Grandpa Says.” The book will be published by Covenant Books in 2019. The Fall Festival runs from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Sometime during those five hours I hope to get in my daily nap.

            The library is at 150 Holbrook Road, Holbrook, New York 11741. 631-588-5024. Holbrook is less than three miles from Holtsville, New York, where there is a big IRS office. I wonder if the folks there are working overtime to complete an audit on a certain person. Just an idle thought, one of many I have every day.