When my parents died in 2004, I took their 7-year-old Kenmore washer and dryer — back when Kenmore meant quality. Should you purchase their appliances around age 70, chances were you’d die before those did. Turns out that washer and dryer lasted 19 years before biting the dust…kicking the bucket…going kaput.
So last September I bought a Whirlpool washer and dryer since they received rave reviews. Fast forward to last week when I put a load of towels in my still-sparkling-clean and shiny dryer, hit the appropriate buttons, tapped START and waited for the magic to begin. Nothing happened.
Hum. Maybe I did something wrong. So I repeated the process. Still nothing. Now don’t get me wrong; all the buttons were lit up, teasing me into thinking my wet towels were about to become extraordinarily dry and fluffy. And to think I fell for it…
Now don’t get me wrong; I realize it’s shocking to lead with that, especially since this is supposed to be a humor blog and death isn’t funny. Spoiler alert: there will be a happy ending. Sort of.
It started 3 days before my birthday when I called Vicki to see whether her doctor contacted her with test results from the previous week. At 64, she’s lived most of her life with debilitating obsessive-compulsive disorder, is developmentally and physically disabled and now has a muscle condition forcing her to use a walker. Life has not been particularly kind to Vicki.
Me, brother Bill and Vicki at Tahoe circa 1960
Vicki sleeps late and doesn’t have a cell phone or computer. I can only contact her via her home phone. She often can’t reach it before it goes to voicemail so I leave a message and hope she calls me back. But this time she didn’t. I figured she’s probably out getting dinner and will call me later. But no.Continue reading →
So here’s the thing…as it turns out, there’s a lot I just don’t get.
And here I thought one of the perks of getting older is that wisdom piles on you like a football player under a group tackle. Seems you simply know stuff; it comes with the territory. But apparently that’s not how it works because I’m 62 and still often baffled.
For instance, I don’t get it when someone says, “I know that road like the back of my hand.“ Obviously that person is referring to a familiarity with the road. But I ask you, how well do you really know the back of your hand? I, for one, couldn’t pick mine out of a lineup.
Just looks like an old hand to me
Why are razor blades pricey? They’re like buying gold. What’s the justification? Is stainless steel in short supply? I imagine people frequently steal them. Here’s a thought: lower the price to let’s say, the cost of silver, and they might not get nabbed as often.
The most expensive razor: $200 with sapphire blades
To put it more succinctly, someone almost killed me. I’d call it murder but I suppose in a court of law it would constitute manslaughter. None-the-less, I might be dead if it weren’t for a red Fiat and one precious second.
I was checking emails at 7:30 p.m. when I received notice saying some bozo had stolen one of our feral cat feeding stations and food bowls. The cats also needed more food. So I grabbed the pertinent items and headed out for the 10 minute drive up the freeway…until I realized I’d forgotten the feeding station. Typical me. So I headed back to my garage where the station was sitting in plain sight. Impossible for me to miss although somehow I’d managed.
Once I entered the freeway, a red 2-seater Fiat convertible flew past me. The top was down and 3 young gals were squeezed in, one obviously without a seat belt. Or a seat. Surprisingly, a police cruiser drove right by them. Must have been quittin’ time because 3 long-haired blonds speeding in a convertible are kinda hard to miss.
I have a problem. If you looked inside my closet, it would appear I love to shop. REALLY love to shop.
Just one of 3 closets
But recently I discovered something I should have known all along: It’s not shopping that’s the problem; it’s rarely purging what I buy. For instance, some of my clothing was popular during the Reagan era. I mean, really…who keeps hip-huggers that long?
Now don’t get me wrong. My apparent reluctance to discard clothing I’d forgotten I even owned came as a surprise to me. Suddenly my closets seemed awfully small. This became evident when it took nearly all my strength to push dozens of occupied hangers aside in search of a particular item. That’s when I discovered a bridesmaid dress from a friend’s 1981 wedding. And no, that’s not a typo. I’m talking 1981.