Category Archives: Aging

Got another one in you?

So at age 75 I was approved for a 20-year mortgage on a condo. And the guy said “Is this your last one? Do you have another one in you?”

Me: “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.” It is my fifth mortgage with this company in 32 years.

Optimism

Downsizing at 75.

Moving on

Been skipping blogging in this hectic week with much less and much more to come. We’re downsizing, buying a condo and selling the rancho. So lots of repairs  here and there, and painting here, and so forth to get ready to move in and sell out.

And, meanwhile, there’s the culmination of the drama of getting my step-daughter an apartment in a very crowded (and getting more crowded) and very expensive (and getting more so) town, which finally seems solved. She picks up the keys tomorrow. No washer/dryer but beggars and choosers.

Pretty exhausting for a 75-year-old. I’m pacing myself. Napping afternoons. So, now, all my (3+) commenters should not worry about why I’m not keeping up hereabouts. But thanks for asking.

The flood

Used to say we don’t get no floods up here in the hills. Forgot about the towel brigade because it hadn’t happened in a few years, ground saturated above us here in the valley. Thought to myself, when it was pouring outside tonight, should get out of bed and check. Didn’t. Getting old.

Until an hour or so after the rain stopped. Stepped into water in the family room, the lowest part of the house. Not quite ankle-deep but has soaked the big rug good. Have been using a wet-vac but it’s slow going. Probably better to let it evaporate under the fans and with the door open.

Until the rain starts up again about noon. Towel brigade and flood vaccing then. Going to call a rug cleaner that picks up and delivers about 8 a.m. to get ahead of the rush maybe. Will update.

UPDATE:  Got the rug out for drying and cleaning. Then fought off another flood about 1 pm , until I started losing. Then the storm quit us. Whew.

Another Blumenthal Ranger

Time was when every Vietnam vet was a baby killer. Then every Vietnam vet was a hero, simply for having served over there. Neither made much sense but reflected the ambivalence in which we were held. Mostly I remember people on the street looking away when I was in uniform. They would not meet my eyes.

Then came the wannabees: the Blumenthals and other liars, who wanted the hero label and the consequent general sympathy. And finally some vets got together and began policing these scumbags under the rubric of Stolen Valor.

Comes the latest in their ranks: Nathan Phillips, the aging old American Indian who insolently played the drum in the Catholic kids’ face and got raised to hero status by the Leftist media who wanted the kid strung up because he wore a Trump hat. Lynched, in other words.

Thanks to another Blumenthall Ranger.

Via Google and The Lid

UPDATE:  Time for Phillips to lawyer up.

The idiot light

So an idiot light came on last Sunday on the dashboard just above the temperature gauge and I looked in the manual and it had something to do with the emissions system.

Took it to the Honda dealer this morning and was informed that the other thing I wanted, an inspection to update my registration, was impossible until the emissions system was looked at in three days. I could have a rental but there were 65 cars ahead of me. Sixty-five!

Then I went to show my insurance card to the rental guy and discovered it was out of date. I drove home to print out the updated one. Starting back I got the bright idea to take the CRV to Jiffy Lube when it opened and see if it passed inspection. It did, along with two brake lights replaced, saving me a ticket.

The idiot light, meanwhile, had gone out and not come back on. Saved by the insurance card.

Burying Mom

Barbara Ellen’s aging mom was buried the other day. Now comes the hard part.

Mom wanted to be planted in a box. Dad preferred cremation. So his nine-year-old ashes were put in the box with her. Her remains, that is, as hard as that idea would be to deal with under normal circumstances.

They are the lips that kissed us, the hands that caressed us, and the arms that encircled us when we needed them.

It was made “tremendously comforting,” however, by two dreams her Dad brought her shortly before Mom passed. One was of him telling her to get the dying over with and come along. Mom had the same dream that same night but it included the detail that he was waiting to go dancing. Bar’s other dream was of a crowd of people with him waiting for Mom to come along. She recognized some of them, including her great grandmother.

Still, Mom is gone from our sight and that is the hard part. After many months dying she is suddenly gone. Everything has changed.