How the Cookie Crumbles

Life and scribbles on the far side of SIXTY-FIVE


This is Awkward . . .

Most days I get breakfast, read the newspaper and putter around, or attack tasks / projects I can’t avoid. Lately, there have been a ton of those  and I’ve been buried under lots of paper. In spite of concentrating so hard, a few days ago, I noticed something different:  SILENCE.

I live in the basement level of the house I share with my daughter and her family. The dehumidifier is going all the time. Or at least it was.

The hot water tank in the laundry-room was replaced about a month ago. Because of the water spill during the switch, I moved the dehumidifier in there to dry up the wet cement floor (decided not to spend the extra money finishing the floor). I shut it down afterwards.

In the past few days, the temperature has been going up outside. Yesterday felt like 35 degrees Celsius. Duh, time to put the dehumidifier back on. I decided not to move it back into the dining / kitchen area and left it where it was—a good thing too.

My dehumidifier is either having an identity crisis or is on strike. I can’t remove the water container—not that it’s full anyway but I keep checking—it keeps icing up inside. When I unplug it, the ice thaws and leaks (on the cement floor, thank goodness). I wonder if a good swift kick might help.

I’m was used to the constant hum it makes; why did it take so long to realize I live in tomb-like silence? Have I forgotten I have a radio? What does that say about me? I am not deaf if that’s what you’re thinking. My problem is neither my hearing nor memory. How can anyone be so busy she doesn’t stop to put some music on?

Anyway, I’ve no alternative. We are expecting a hot, dry summer (as in where’s the rain?). I’m ready to eat nails because I need to go shopping and don’t want to. My dehumidifier is only three years new. Drat.

By the way, now that I think of it, silence is golden or haven’t you heard that somewhere too? My worry is after I swallow the nails I will be screaming and it’s all my dehumidifier’s fault thus breaking the golden silence.


The Meeting

Scenario 1

A camera shutter winked. Their encounter wasn’t secret anymore. He grabbed her; his passion evident. She slipped into the shadow out of his grasp.

“I can’t…”

“You said you love me.”

“I don’t anymore.”

“What? Problems at home?”

* * *

Scenario 2

The passion of her embrace left him breathless. Their last secret encounter she’d said. A shutter clicked. He looked over his shoulder. Was that a camera? A shadow crossed his face. He’d almost escaped.

Or was he paranoid?

* * *




Highway Robbery and Then Some

I NEVER go downtown. I hate the traffic, the bumper-to-bumper stop-start, the police sirens and ambulances screaming to get you out of their way, the blaring of horns by impatient drivers, the stink of exhaust. Most of all, I so detest paying for parking downtown. Sure, meter parking on the street is cheaper but when’s the last time you actually saw someone leave so a body could slip right into the spot without causing a disturbance of untold proportions? When a spot suddenly opens up—a miracle—it’s mind-boggling that three other cars immediately materialize from every direction jocking for that one slot. Depending on the meter, the maximum you might be able to feed it may be enough for either two or maybe three hours at a time. Will that be long enough or might you get a ticket if you get held up?

Today was one of those days. I couldn’t win. The closest parking lot to my destination, a medical building, was full already anyway. I burned unnecessary gas driving up and down the side streets hoping for divine intervention to no avail. There were two other suckers double-parked next to meters that’d run out of time, I expect, waiting for the owners to appear and save them from more cruising around the block. I gave up after having to go around THEM, illegally I’m sure, according to the traffic act.

I chose another parking lot a couple of blocks away where I noticed some empty spots. Ahhh. Relief, although short-lived. There was a parking attendant, a live person, instead of one of those machines you put your money into for the estimated time you think you’ll need and then get a printed ticket to leave on your dash to prove you’ve paid. Are they cheaper than the lot with the live attendant? I can’t say as it’s been years since I got stuck using one. To park, I had to leave a $15.00 DEPOSIT. When did that happen? It used to be you had to leave a deposit later in the day, closer to closing time but this was still morning. What if I hadn’t had that much on me? Luckily, I found a twenty in my bag but I still resented forking out the dough.

The charge was $2.00 for each half-hour. You might understand I bristled with indignation but what could I do? I was gone exactly 64 minutes: one hour and four minutes. Not that I liked it but I was prepared, out of necessity, to pay four dollars for the hour but I took exception to having to pay another $2.00 for four minutes. I fumed and grit my teeth when the attendant handed me the balance of $9.00 from my deposit. I call that highway robbery and I didn’t like it. I’m a senior but did anybody give a hoot? Nope. What, no discounts for seniors? I was robbed  in broad daylight and it was legal. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet! Crap! That’s what going downtown gets you.


Hello world!

Let’s cut the crap! None of us is getting out of here ALIVE (much to my surprise—I don’t THINK so!). I’m making the choice to make the most of it. Hopefully I’ll grumble, whine and complain all the way to…you know where: that last vacation in the sky (none too loudly). You CAN stand out in the crowd and make everyone else miserable OR you can try to look on the bright side. There always is a bright side, isn’t there?

I’m a grandma and keep busy looking after my two grandkids. I read voraciously. I like my bookclubs because they aren’t boring. We eat, drink and talk books (eat and drink are the operative words). I’ve started golfing. I try to exercise although I can’t always manage to squeeze it into my day. I enjoy my friends and family. What else is there?

I’m economical  by choice. I get riled when people act like we have nothing to lose. Money doesn’t grow on trees; neither do our seemingly endless resources. Call me cheap if you want to but if you don’t know the value of a dollar by your mid-thirties, in your old age you WILL be poor. How will you survive? Everything keeps going up except for body parts being tugged downwards by gravity. Only two things are certain in this life and even the best of us can’t avoid them: death and taxes.

My quest is to grumble as quietly as I can manage to as Mother Nature disowns me inch by painful inch. I’ll TRY to own up to what’s happening and try to own it but I hope to find some joy into the journey.