The unvoiced thoughts and ideas of a septegenarian.



My guess is that once in a while everyone has a day when he feels as though the fates have conspired against him. In today’s parlance, “a bad hair day.” A day when he burns his morning toast, can’t find the keys to the car,  runs out of gas on his  way to work, discovers his secretary quit once he get s there, his six o’clock golf date is cancelled and when he finally gets home, he finds a note from his wife telling him his kid fell out of a tree and he should meet her at the hospital

Monday wasn’t quite that bad but it came close. First I discovered I had run out of coffee.  Gave some thought to dashing out to a local Starbuck’s but looked out the window. Cool, foggy, rain glistening on the streets. Scratch the coffee.  I then remembered today was the day of a command appearance at a grandchild’s school. If I must brave the elements I might as well leave a bit early and do some grocery shopping.  The meat for veal stew I wanted was not available nor would the butcher cut a chicken in sixteenths.

The gas tank was nearly empty and at the first station I stopped at the gas pump  was out of order. At the second station I slipped on the wet pavement, bumped my head on the car door and landed on the ground.  When I returned home my key would not fit in the door lock. It took four phone calls to report the broken lock to building management. Worse than dismal.

Onward, I tell myself   The “event,” –  a family sabbath celebration – was, as expected, beyond my capability to hear whatever was being said or sung.  However, the enthusiasm of the children was a delight to behold.  I return home – still can’t get in the door.  I head for the library to wile away some time in the hope the lock will be fixed in a hour or so. A book I’ve been  wanting to check out is not available.  I browse a bit, scan some magazines, and return home. Still no go.

I give up and head for my daughter’s house where I’ll at least be able to have a cup of coffee that doesn’t cost five bucks and there’s a phone.  She’s home – offers some sympathy – and puts me to work making her dinner: not an easy thing to do in her spiceless kitchen. She informs me that when she did my last load of laundry she mistakenly used bleach when she should not have and two of my favorite tee-shirts are “a bit faded.”  My reward is a couple of grandchildren who are delighted I’m  there and we play gin rummy after dinner until I’m informed the door to my apartment has been fixed.

When I do enter my apartment, carrying two bags of groceries, and turn on the light what do you suppose happens?  It wouldn’t have surprised me if the light failed to come on but, no, the light was fine.  What wasn’t fine were several crickets scurrying under the refrigerator.  I call my son to ask him to bring me some insect repellent NOW. He’s not home. I hope the critters froze to death.

What’s the point of this?  It  reminds me that no matter how many little things go wrong in any one given day, there is always something that goes right for which I should be grateful. You might think of it this way:  “I’ll close the door on Dismal and open it to Fresh Air.”

Post a comment.

Julie Rose


1 Comment »