Furniture Disease

I recently attended a Senior Adult Ministry (SAM) event at my church. This is a group I have refused to join because, dang it, I don’t consider myself a senior. Membership starts at age sixty, an age I’ve already passed, but it also goes up to one hundred, an age I pray I never reach. I’m more active than most seniors and I enjoy spending time with all ages. Whether it’s for Sunday School, small group, or lunch with my buds, I enjoy a good mix of people. I don’t want to hear that I’m supposed to hang out with only certain ages or generations. That’s pigeon-holing and I’m against it. Anyway, I was invited to the meeting to share a personal experience as part of their program. I talked with some mighty nice people there—enjoyed the meal and the company. Even...

The Gift Nobody Wanted

A novel event took place at my church the Sunday following Christmas; it was dubbed Fat Pants Sunday. The pastor who dreamt up this idea assumed that a fair amount of gluttony took place during the holiday season. He invited folks to wear comfy clothing and bring leftover goodies, to savor the last of the holiday treats before New Year’s resolutions began. He also decided we would do a gift swap as a way to share unique, unwanted gifts. The food was to be eaten and enjoyed at church; gifts were put on display to be looked at, considered, and then taken by anyone who wanted them. While doing some housecleaning the Saturday before the event, I placed a Victoria’s Secret bag in our recycle bin. When George saw it, he got an idea. “You should put something in this...

No, An Onion is Not Seafood

I am officially losing my mind. By the time someone reaches my age, sixty-three, they should know the difference between a scallion and a scallop. Apparently, I don’t. We tried a new restaurant with some friends. I did my usual, ordering an appetizer as my entrée, the lesser amount of food better suited to my small appetite. Two appetizers caught my attention, the Brisket Poutine and the Chili Cheese Nachos. I noticed that the poutine listed a single scallion as an ingredient and the nachos, plural scallions. Intentional or a typo? I knew what brisket was but, never having heard of poutine, surmised that it must be a beef/seafood combination. Why did I think that? Because I errantly thought a scallion was seafood and the menu clearly stated that the dish...

Letters of Old-Age

The letters keep coming. First, it was letters inviting us to join the AARP. Those started around age fifty. We refused to join. Next came letters inviting us to dinners hosted by financial planning firms, wanting us to consider their services in retirement planning. Well, boys, you’re a bit late. We’re in our sixties and already retired. Those were followed by letters asking us to visit the newest senior living home, certain that we wanted to give up yard work and privacy to live in the company of others just like us. No, thanks. I have no desire to eat every meal in a large dining hall with a hundred other old people. Call me crazy, but I like privacy and quiet, and I enjoy people of different ages. And now we’re invited to a Free Dinner and Life Planning...

Rain

I posted on FaceBook this morning, “We just walked Prince in the pouring rain. We’re either very dedicated to our dog or dedicated to being stupid.” Friend, Gary Forsythe, responded, “Was it purple rain?” Well, I had to give that some thought. Of course it wasn’t purple rain; there’s no such thing. But then I remembered there was a rock star who once sang about purple rain. Why was Gary bringing that up just because we walked our dog in the rain? Twenty minutes later, I happened to remember that it was Prince who sang Purple Rain. I still didn’t see what this had to do with my dog walk. Another twenty minutes passed and it finally dawned on me that Gary brought up purple rain because my dog’s name is Prince. Yep, I’m a little slow on the up-take, but I do...

Muscle Car

We saw a granny driving a brand new muscle car today. That’s right. An old lady was behind the wheel of a shiny black Dodge Challenger with an extra large hood scoop. This was not a run-of-the-mill Challenger; based on the rumbling, it appeared to include the supercharged 6.4L Hemi SRT Hellcat V8 engine. She had short, blue-gray, hair-dresser-styled hair and was the type person you would expect to see behind the wheel of a Mercury Grand Marquis or a twenty-year-old Cadillac. Vrooommm, Granny! The old guy sitting in the passenger seat looked older and shorter than his driver, probably couldn’t have seen over top of the steering wheel if he’d tried. We guessed the Dodge was his dream car and that by the time he could finally afford it, he was too old and short to...

Proverbs 31

After a month in Montana helping my daughter 24/7 with her new baby, I felt a bit undone back at home. I never expected to wonder what to do with myself. Such is the life of a recent retiree. When I mentioned my unsettled feelings to my husband, George, he said, “Have a seat. Let’s talk about it.” I sat in my usual spot on the couch, with him relaxed in his recliner across the room. He turned to Proverbs 31 in his Bible and began reading to me about the wife of noble character, the workaholic woman who works with wool and flax, prepares food for her family, buys a field with her earnings and plants a vineyard. She spins, weaves, trades, and feeds the poor, all while her husband sits with the elders at the city gate. I’ve read this passage many times before, but...