Tuesday, November 20, 2018

ROBBLOG #752- Maybe I am Old

Holy Shite! Maybe I am old!

Things are starting to happen. Kooky things. Senior moments.
Oh, I don't just mean today but in the past year or so.

Misplacing stuff is commonplace.
I've been looking for a black belt with a brown leather tip for weeks now. I wore it over the summer but I'll be damned if I know where it is now.

Last year when trying to find my way around Duncan, time after time I had trouble remembering the order of the cross streets along Canada Avenue. Beverley, James, Coronation then, Trunk. No wait, Sherman Road is first then Coronation...or is it York Street?
No. York is on the other side of the Island Highway.
Still after a year and three months in this City I still find myself doubting myself when I am out driving around without the Mister as a co-pilot.
It's getting better but at times it all feels so unfamiliar.

Then, just before I sat down to write this blog, I went to a kitchen drawer where I was sure I had seen a small cord with a night light receptacle on the end. I wanted to light up a "plastic" Santa face I used to hang out every Christmas in the 1960's when we lived on Cochrane Street, back in Orillia. I've kept the face but these days the plastic is very brittle. I thought I'd display it one more year on our protected lanai. Safe from the weather.

The original cord- a cloth cord, was in bad shape. I had already wrapped black electrical tape around it a few years ago to protect the wire but this year when I plugged the cord in the little, soft white bulb flickered.
A short.
Worn out wire.
Hence, I knew exactly where to put my hands on the new cord with the 7 watt bulb socket on one end and a perfectly good plug on the other.
No deal.
I can't find the F&%$ing thing...anywhere!

Then today, before coming out of Costco, I took the Latte I bought at the snack bar and wedged it in the shopping cart between a Chicken Pot Pie, a warm, fresh from the broiler BarBQue Chicken and a bag of buns. You see, I needed a free hand to push the cart and show my itemized bill at the exit. The young man in a nicely pressed blue shirt reached out and I passed the bill onto him to show what I had bought. He drew a straight, green line through the items on the bill and wished me a good evening. The Mister- at this point, had gone on ahead to unlock the van and check on Koko- our mini-Schnauzer, who was with us. He probably found her curled up in her basket in the rear seat.

I pushed the shopping cart out the door and along the side of the building over a speed bump and into the parking lot. Seconds later I looked down into the cart and saw my Latte on its side. The cup's contents were leaking through the basket onto the items below- including a Tuxedo Cake and a Christmas Cake!
Oh Shit!

I stopped the cart and began to wipe up the mess with a couple of snack bar napkins I had tucked into my jean's pocket. The Mister was a few parking spaces away. He saw what I was doing and walked over to ask what was going on.
I was spitting bricks.
F%$#ing speed bump.
F$%#ing Late.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Standing under a parking lot light at the back of the van, we wiped the Latte from the edge of the Tuxedo Cake's packaging but couldn't save the "Christmas Gift".
It was soaked with liquid that had that yummy, familiar Latte scent.
We wouldn't be able to wrap this and leave it under the tree.
So, my lovely, understanding husband not only went back inside Costco to purchase the same gift one more time but he also picked me up another Latte.
Isn't he swell?
He treats old folks very nicely.

Possum's- don't let this happen to you!
I didn't want to push my luck but I did say I'd drive home- and I slid into the driver's side of the van before he came back out from the store.
Stop snickering...

"I can do this."
I repeated that mantra about a half dozen times to my old man Reid self.

However, all the way down Island from Nanaimo to Duncan, I questioned my ability to see in the dark- even with my distance glasses on.
As the Mister was checking e-mail on his iPhone, I watched carefully for signage so as not to end up in the Pacific or at least in the direction of the Pacific on the highway that leads to the Duke Point BC Ferries Terminal. Why imagine if I had made a wrong turn off Trans Canada 1 in the early evening November darkness:

Approaching the ticket queue lineup- because I couldn't turn around or at least see clearly to turn around in the darkness I might have said to the gal in the ticket booth-

"I'm awfully sorry Ma'am and you'll think this is very funny but you see, sadly, I made the
wrong turn back on the Island Highway and I really meant to continue along to Duncan, not take the Ferry to Horseshoe Bay and Vancouver."

She might not have found it too funny and maybe would have asked to see my licence. She would have slid the little glass window closed and after doing so pick up the phone and nod to me while smiling cautiously.
Probably calling the cops on me.

We did make it home and I have to say night driving these days is not the same as when I was in my 30's or 40's. Maybe even 50's...

It was not a rainy night, for that only adds another challenge while driving up island or down island on the Island Highway. The dry road lay ahead in the van's lights and I followed it sipping my Latte at each traffic light along the way as I listened to Starlite on the radio.
I had to stop at every light all the way down island.
Every damn light.

Now, we're safely home and inside but before calling it a night I might just have one more quick little look for that black belt with the brown leather tip.

Who knows, I might find something I was looking for last month!
Good Grief. Pass the depends...that's another story for another time.