“Age is just a number. It’s totally irrelevant unless, of course, you happen to be a bottle of wine.”

The early morning was cloudy, but the sun pushed the clouds away. The day is lovely with the sun, a slight breeze and a blue sky. It will be in the 60’s. I have to go to the garden shop to pick up the potting soil I bought. There was no room in the trunk the other day. I also want a few more strawberry plants and the plants for the front step pot. If more plants catch my eye, I’ll just load them on the cart. I am a sucker for plants.

Today is laundry day. Enough said!

Henry is upstairs hiding from me. He sensed I wanted him. He’s right. I need to put his name tag back on his collar. He also needs a trip to the vet’s to have his nails clipped. Poor Henry!

I have a slow week as there is only a single entry on my dance card, one for Wednesday. The garden shop and the Christmas tree shop are on my list. I need to replace my barbecue cover as the spawns of Satan have chewed off one half of it. It is bare to the elements and covered with pollen. This cover is the fourth victim of the spawns. The third cover disappeared completely. It wasn’t on the deck or in the yard. A six foot fence surrounds my yard. It must have taken an army of spawns to steal it and get it over or under the fence.

When I was a kid, old was relative. My grandparents were really old to me. My parents, not as much. Each grandmother wore the accepted old lady’s wardrobe of the day. Their dresses were flowered, small flowers, not big ones which would draw the eyes. Their shoes were black with laces and stubby heels. They wore bib aprons which also had flowers. One grandmother wore slippers in the house. Her nylons were scrunched around her ankles, and the backs of her slippers were flattened by her feet. My other grandmother used to have a wire basket with wheels. She’d take it up the street to the First National, buy her groceries then drag the filled basket home. She was the unimaginative cook. I never thought as either one as the future me.

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7 Comments on ““Age is just a number. It’s totally irrelevant unless, of course, you happen to be a bottle of wine.””

  1. Hedley Says:

    I do wonder, do I sense I am finally slowing down ? The road beckons, planes and trains and automobiles are about to take me and Mrs MDH to Porto to see England play in the semi final of the UEFA Nations League. We have tickets for the match on Thursday and then the Sunday Final, hoping that it will be England

    Tottenham crashed and burned very early in Saturday’s Final. Oh well.

    Lets get this show on the orad

    • katry Says:

      My Dear Hedley,
      I know I have slowed down.

      It will be a long trip to get there, but going is always exciting. It is the coming home which makes us weary.

      I also hope that England is in the finals. That will make for a memorable trip.

      Such is life and, obviously, such is Tottenham!!

  2. Bob Cohen Says:

    Question: How do you know if your Italian? Answer: When you are taller than your grandmother when you are seven years old. 🙂

    • katry Says:

      Bob,
      I’m thinking this would upset Italians.

      • Bob Cohen Says:

        It came from the two car mechanic guys on NPR Click and Clack, who are Italian.

      • katry Says:

        I used to love Click and Clack. They are from Cambridge. They did make fun of themselves.

  3. John Wilson, Jr Says:

    I suggest to people, “The passage of time makes me grow older, but no power on earth can make me grow up.” Even a very old bottle of wine can be aged and child-like.

    Cordially,
    J. D. Wilson, Jr.


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