To Whomever Found My Cell Phone

Yes, it was one of those days.

A normal Monday. Normal routine.
Parked the car at the train station.
Walking along the platform, set my phone from ring to vibrate.
Put it back on the belt hook.
Waited for the train.

It came. I got on. Heard something drop at the top of the stairs.
Looked around saw nothing and with others waiting to get on, moved on.
Sat down, got my pass out for the conductor.
As I settled into the seat, I realized, the normal cell phone lump on my side was not there.

Yes, it was really not there. No phone attached.

Oh, no!
And then the aha moment!
That must have been what I heard as I got on.
It had not full latched on the belt clip.

(That is another post, I have not liked the design of this thing since I got it.
It was a work-hand-me-down and seemed better than it actually has turned out to be.)

I got up, checked the platform. The train was moving now.
Checked with the conductor to see if anyone had turned it in.
He had been the last one up the stairs and did not see it,
so if it was on the train someone had it.

He came by shortly after with it.
Someone in the car up front had just turned it in.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Life is good!

A Sense of Place

Where are you from?
What do you call home?

This sense does change over time.

I can see this now, that I pause and look back on my own life.
As I grow older, I no longer refer to myself as a Rhode Islander.
I do occasionally as one "born in RI" but since I live in Massachusetts now,
that is where I am from, even though I have still lived longer in RI (29 years)
than MA (9 years), New Jersey (13 years) and Illinois (18 months).

Ronni's posting today makes sense.
We happen to be struggling with the in-laws
who can't continue to live in a two story house,
yet won't accept this and agree to find
a one-floor condo or something other than the house.

"A sense of place is woven into the being of an elder in ways that adults have a hard time understanding."

This could have been written for our current family situation.

We (the kids) do not understand why they (Mom and Dad)
can't accept the simple fact
that Dad can not afford to fall down the stairs again.

Thanks, Ronni for helping to see this.

I have a new avenue to try now.

Water - Paul Guest

The work week is over. I have worked in a different location each day this week,
finally getting back to my own desk today.

One daughter finishing up her freshman year at college,
is preparing to come home this weekend.

Our youngest daughter is out with her boyfriend to a movie before getting to bed early with SAT tests scheduled for the morning.

So Dolores and I took the opportunity to go out for dinner.
Local place, good food, good service.
Time to talk and plan our schedules.
Life is so complicated.

And against all this, I hear this poem by Paul Guest.

Recommended reading (listening) to wrap up the week.

Yes, getting older is hard

Another thoughtful posting by Ronni Bennett hit the net yesterday.

As we get older, things go wrong with our bodies, they wear out and we are discouraged from talking about them. Younger people, in the bloom of youth and adulthood, readily hold out their casts for signing or relate the details of a hospital stay, but we older folks keep our ills to ourselves for fear of appearing frail and useless.

Even I, having spent more than a year here at Time Goes By encouraging acceptance of old people as we are and not as society wants us to be, succumbed this week. Last Saturday morning, getting out of bed produced searing pain in my lower back. It subsided to an almost tolerable thrum when I laid down or when I stood. I could walk – sort of – but sitting was excruciatingly painful. Only today am I back to normal.

Until writing that paragraph, however, I acknowledged it to no one. Friends called with the usual greeting, how are you? and I said, “fine.” When one asked about meeting for dinner, I said I had other plans. Undoubtedly, a neighbor who phoned would have picked up some things I needed at the grocery store saving me a painful, slow walk, but no-o-o.

I was too proud to ask, too indoctrinated by the culture into maintainng the pretense of youthfulness to admit an age-related ailment.

"Too proud to ..." you can fill in the blank, but the lesson I think for us in this is to not be.

To be confident enough in ourselves
To be strong enough to ....

Building Houses the Blogger Way

A little Friday humor for those (like myself) that missed this earlier this week.

Building Houses the Blogger Way via The Vision Thing.

Worth a chuckle or two, if not a serious thigh slap...