I’ve had a post about bad haircuts rattling around in my head for days but haven’t had a chance to get it written. And now, instead of that one, which will have to jell a bit longer, I’m taking time to talk about the walk of life.
That’s not just one of my favorite Dire Straits’ songs, it’s what’s been keeping us hopping this week. And it doesn’t show any sign of slowing down.
Some of it’s been general maintenance things that are part of adult living. We got a new (refurbished, but fabulous) vacuum, which has taken us out of the vacuum-cleaner hell we’ve been in since impulsively buying a Bissell upright super-duper pet hair vacuum. It started off poorly and got progressively worse. Don’t know why we fought it so long.
The bright blue Kenmore Intuition has made life so much more pleasant for people who have to vacuum at least once a day – often more – to stay ahead of the dog hair and construction dust. Why did it take us so long???
On the appliance down side, our trusty little freezer in the laundry room up and died – with no warning. We don’t know how many days it had been dead when John discovered the corpse, but the food inside was warm, limp or bloated, and just starting to stink.
Could have been much worse, but it was already pretty vile. And who knew a bag of frozen edamame could swell to the bursting point? Not us, and fortunately, we caught it just this side of exploding.
Labor Day marked our eighth anniversary of living in one-quarter of this giant restoration project. It’s coming along, but doing it the pay-as-you-go way with John doing most of the work probably makes some people think we’re insane.
I know sheetrock dust makes me feel that way sometimes. Is there anything more nefarious?
John’s such a perfectionist that we couldn’t hire work done nearly as nicely. There’s that, too.
On the other end of the familial spectrum, we’ve spent lots of time Skyping, talking on the phone and emailing with Kitty over the past week and a half. The upshot is that John flies back to the Yakima Valley of Washington state on Tuesday.
We’re joining the other thousands of baby boomers with a parent in assisted living. Doris, bless her, made it nearly to her 91st birthday (that’s next month) before making the move, which happens next week.
The time is right and it’s got to happen. John and Kitty have a rough stretch ahead of them, but they’ll get through it as a team. I love you two.
In October I’ll head up to help with whatever is left to do – and to meet Kitty’s new granddaughter, who should arrive while I’m there. That’s the plan, anyway.
Mother and Bill carry on. They’re not as hale and hearty as they were, of course, but we’re grateful for what we’ve got.
And as my 57th birthday comes around next week, I find I don’t have quite the stamina I did at 30, when Dire Straits performed this upbeat tune. I still work out, I still move fast, but my running days are long behind me.
My rear end, unfortunately, is not. Seems to have dropped off somewhere along the way. But that’s another story.
The point is, life goes on. The pace doesn’t slow down, but you don’t have to break your neck to keep up. Just do the best you can. The tortoise overtook the hare anyway.
Sometimes that’s hard to remember. Especially for me.