I have never been much into the great American pastime of “People Watching.”
(Disclaimer: If you are putting my headline and opening line together and hoping for an X-rated post, you will be mightily disappointed.)
My powers of observation are sorely lacking, as my friend Di can attest. She once watched in horror and pulled me back to the sidewalk as I prepared to cross a quiet street in the path of an oncoming car during a girls’ getaway to Kennebunkport, Maine in 1982.
For eleven years, beginning in 2002, my parents lived in an apartment on the ocean in nearby Long Branch. I checked in with them by phone every night, which could be stressful sometimes. My mother had a habit of inserting disturbing news or a perplexing question near the end of every phone conversation.
Every time I feel like I am getting things under control, and mom into a routine, we seem to hit a roadblock. This one is courtesy of her prescription insurance company, which no longer wishes to cover any type of pain patch. I have requested an appeal, so please keep good thoughts for us.
It’s amazing how quickly things can go from “Good Day Sunshine” to “Driven to Tears.”
If a pretty-much-housebound 88-year-old can have a “standout” season, my mother recently ended one. Well, a season and three-quarters, to be exact. Woo-hoo. Go mom!
It started a few months ago, when there was a “lull” in our weekday television watching when season 19 of Dancing with the Stars (DWTS to us longtime fans) ended. Mom and I have watched DWTS from the very beginning in 2002. When she moved in last August, I was pleased that we would be able to enjoy the show together on a regular basis.
I would like to say right off the bat that both of my parents have a checkered history with cars. This is especially true in my mother’s case. And she has managed this without ever actually driving one.