I recently did two things I’ve never done. That field becomes smaller and smaller as the decades pass, which is definitely my goal. I try not to obsess about my epitaph, but I’m thinking She Did It All would be a good one.
So the two things I can strike off my list now would be Drive To Maine and Own A Car With Sirius Radio. It’s actually Husband’s car, an Acura T-something, and it came with a free year of satellite radio, which we’re just at the start of. Last month the lease on his Nissan was up and RIGHT BEFORE he had to turn it in, he was rear-ended on the Belt Parkway to the tune of $5600 in damage.
The driver who decided Husband’s lane was so perfect he had to be there too was clearly impaired. Having caused the rush hour traffic on the Belt to back up to newsworthy proportions, the guy stood in the roadway waving his arms and wailing, “I’m so sorry, man! Like I really didn’t see you, man, y’know? Are you okay, man? This was like totally incidental. . .I mean accidental. . . y’know, man?”
The responding police officers gave him a breathalyzer which he passed. Apparently they’d left the stonedalyzer back at the station. So there was no indication on the police report that this guy was messed up, and in the end he told his insurance company something wacky like the other car had backed into him on the parkway. At the time it happened, Husband felt confident it would be an open and shut case. It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
The trip to Maine took about eight hours, but it seemed much faster, accompanied as we were by Bruce Springsteen 24/7, The Grateful Dead All The Time, and Blue Collar Comedy. I never knew XM and Sirius when they were rivals – only as the conjoined twins they are now. The choice of stations was overwhelming, like the diner menu the waitress drops on your table with the thud of an unabridged dictionary. We ran through those stations like barefoot children on a summer day.
While Husband was driving, I related a story I had read that morning in the newspaper at home. There was an obituary that fascinated me, if you’ll excuse my morbid excitement. A 97-year-old woman in Spain, who called herself the world’s oldest blogger, had passed away. Apparently she had attracted a devoted readership with her musings and memories, among which was her opposition to Franco’s regime. That would be Generalissimo Francisco Franco, who, as you know, is still dead.
After I gave Husband the basics of the story, I added, “She began blogging late in life,” and he looked at me amused and said, “I would imagine so.” Husband is always amused at my uncanny grasp of the obvious, and he often looks like he’s restraining a chipmunk inside his cheeks following one of my insightful observations. What I was thinking when I said it was that a 97-year-old had racked up close to 2 million hits on her blog. Without doing the math, I figured I’d be about 140 by the time I had that many hits. Despite the Lipitor, the calcium chews, and the leafy green vegetables, I suspect whatever comes after Facebook and Twitter will probably kill me.
Unlike that big sinking ship, Daughter’s Featured Fotos will go On And On
butter-deer, PS122 Gallery
layers upon layers, LMAK Gallery
pressure
cubed