Estimated reading time: 6 minutes
Estimated reading time: 6 minutes
We love the weather! One week it is in the 80s, the next in the high 60s, and the following week back to the 80s! What is going on? Must be that pesky “Global Warming”!While we were enjoying our coffee and protein drink, Mary kicked off her bi-monthly tradition: The Great Pill Sorting.
The process is highly technical and broken into three phases:
- Mary assumes the role of Chief Pharmaceutical Officer, calmly selecting pills and precision-dropping them into the tiny compartments, as if she’s playing geriatric Tetris.
- I become the on-call warehouse intern, sprinting back and forth down the hallway to our state-of-the-art Medication Storage Facility (also known as “that cabinet”) to retrieve whatever we’re mysteriously out of—despite owning enough bottles to stock a small yacht.
- Finally, I contact CVS on our exclusive VIP hotline (because we are obviously their favorite customers) and order whatever Mary announces, like I’m taking requests at a very slow, very expensive drive-thru.
It’s a smooth operation: Mary organizes, I cardio, and CVS updates our customer profile to “frequent flyer.”
Sorting the pills!
We had our coffee, then went out to the garden to do what can only be described as “light gardening” that somehow turned into a full-scale landscaping documentary.
The patio is actually looking really good—so good, in fact, we officially uncovered the swing for the Spring/Summer season, which is basically the homeowner version of taking the convertible out of storage.
Then I inspected the patio drip-line sprinklers like a man defusing a bomb made of plastic tubing and questionable decisions. After a few adjustments and replacements (and only minor negotiations with the parts that wouldn’t cooperate), the system is back online.
Bottom line: the patio is thriving, the swing is ready for action, and all the babies are finally getting the moisture they deserve—unlike us, who are now headed to the Elks Lodge for “Girls Night Out,” aka the part of the day where we stop watering plants and start hydrating ourselves.
Today we were a very small but mighty crew—only five of us: Bill, Bob, George, and us. Which immediately raises the question: where on earth is Iris? We’re going to call and make sure she’s okay, because her absence was definitely noticed.
Also, the parking lot was NOT okay. The lodge had two events going on at the same time, and parking turned into an expedition—we ended up in the “north 40,” hiking in like we were arriving at a county fair.
Honestly, though, that’s the kind of problem we’re happy to have. Those rentals keep the lights on and the bills paid, and it makes sense—this is a genuinely nice facility, and unlike some places, when they host an event, they don’t serve “rubber chicken.”
Line dancing keeps us young!
Our weekly conversations tend to drift anywhere from the mundane to the completely ridiculous, and today I decided to lob a little “tech history” into the middle of this elderly group:
“Does anyone remember what WYSIWYG means?”
Nothing. Total silence. If crickets had been present, they would’ve felt awkward.
I got one confidently wrong answer from Bob. Bill squinted at the letters and admitted he recognized them, but couldn’t remember what they stood for. Mary was too young to be expected to know, and George just gave me his classic,” Huh?”
And then—just when I was feeling smug—I realized I couldn’t place it right away either. Once it finally surfaced (“What You See Is What You Get”), I had to admit the truth:
Apparently, I’m part of the group after all.
Thank you, Google, for enlightening us old farts and informing the kid (Mary)!
We finally departed the Elks and went home to “rest,” but we had to stop at the cleaners and retrieve our cowboy uniforms since tonight is “Line Dancing Night”.
Mary took a nap, and I battened down the hatches for the expected windstorm coming our way!
At 4:00 pm, the Alexa alarm went off—much to Mary’s dismay—because apparently, Alexa has appointed herself Chief of “Time to Leave” Operations.
That was my 60-minute warning to get cleaned up and ready to go, which meant I launched into a full-speed transformation from “yard creature” to “civilized human.” I jumped in the shower and rinsed off the impressive collection of dirt I’d accumulated while working outside. I’m pretty sure half of it was actual soil, and the other half was just stubbornness.
A few minutes later, I was ready to roll—fully dressed and topped off with my ten-gallon Stetson… which fits rather loosely. So while I looked like I was heading out to wrangle cattle, the hat was more like,” Wheee!” and it tried to leave my head at every sudden movement. If you see a cowboy chasing his own hat down the driveway, that was me: rugged, mysterious, and slightly out of breath.
We got there about 30 minutes before the dancing began, so we ordered dinner. The girls had the salad bar while I consumed massive quantities!
Dianne gets warmed up!
We observed Dianne’s boots and began to worry as we thought we saw some smoke emanating from the soles!
Gettin’ hot!!
After pouring a glass of water on her boots, Dianne and Mary both went out to learn a new line dance. Toes were tapping, and bodies were moving. I stayed at the table holding down the fort. We had great fun!
Taking lessons.
We departed around 8:30 pm, as the dance floor had become a danger zone for amateur line dancers. Hips were flying, boots were kicking, and the dust was so thick it was hard to see.
We ended up watching “Suits” in the TV/Living Room, but alas, I hit the La-Z-Boy and immediately began checking for light leaks out like a light!
We finally went to bed at 10:30 pm.
