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Just last week I stuck my head in the freezer to cool off. This morning I would have stuck my head in the oven if it were not filled with cooking pans. That reminds me of a comedy skit I once saw on TV. A 40 year old Mama’s boy comes into the kitchen and tells his mother he’s about to get married. She shrieks, falls to her knees and sticks her head in the oven He yells, “Ma, get up, it’s electric”.
On a happier note, a friend phoned and asked if I wanted to go to lunch, if so when. I said yes and whenever. She is one of three friends with whom I have lunched over the years. They have never deserted me no matter how banged up I’ve become nor how far away I’ve moved.
She, Lita, (I’ve never been sure if I’m spelling her name right), is quite a gal. She married at 15 and this year she and her husband are celebrating their 50th anniversary. Can you imagine how many people told them they were too young to know what love is? Well if they don’t nobody does.
She picks me up and drives me to the restaurant. Along the way she has interesting and very often, funny stories. Like the one about the time she got stuck trying to climb into her bedroom window in order to retrieve the keys she had locked inside. Halfway through she was stuck like Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit’s hole. The worst part was, her back half was facing the street.
She and her husband have matching motorcycles they drive all over the place. The rest of the year she drives a school bus. How’s that for true grit?
Then there’s Rena. I call her Rena the Good. She is the perfect example of someone who lives by the Golden Rule and Love thy Neighbor. She has spent years doing things for others, like helping elementary school kids make Christmas presents for their parents, making gifts for residents in nursing homes, working to see that fellow members of her senior citizens have good and interesting times. She is walking love.
The fourth lady who lunches is darling Annette. Despite heart and other health problems she is always cheerful. She is also the type of woman I’ve always wished I were. Every hair is in place. Makeup is skillfully applied. Her outfits are coordinated and pretty, even her jewelry is just right. She takes care of me, seeing that I sit in a chair and not fall on the floor. She is a delight.
They are all kind and helpful to me. When we leave, they gather me up, help me get into my coat, carry my purse, help me get into the car and even buckle my seat belt. Even Queen Lizzie in London doesn’t get as much tender, loving care.
It isn’t easy going somewhere with me. I have a splendid walker with wheels and a pull down seat, but it has to be folded up and put into and taken out of the car. I feel guilty about that.
Whenever I go shopping for groceries, Chuckie takes good care of me, helping me get things off the shelves and into the cart I drive around. When it’s time to leave he is especially efficient. I get into the car backwards. Thank heavens for foreign cars with hand grips over the door. Chuckie grabs my legs and swings them around so I am facing front. To make sure he won’t shut the door on me, he sits next to me and gives me a full body shove across the seat. He’s a perfect footman. I’m usually laughing my head off because I keep seeing the whole procedure as a Monty Python performance.
Being handicapped isn’t a day in the park, but if I lose my sense of humor I might as well throw in the towel or find a gas oven with no pans in it.
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