Listen, baby, I got something to say. I got no car and it's breaking my heart, but I got a driver and that's a start...

That's me, waitin' for the Man in my sweet denim duds, approximately age 5. I had no car, and it was breakin' my heart. But I was first in line for the bus. And clearly, I am turning around to tell the kid behind me, "Listen, baby, I got something to say..."

Although what I had to say only may have been, "I have a P,B&J and a Ho-Ho in my sweet, green lunchbox. Whadda you got?"
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It felt like a huge day today.
The laundry list of accomplishments:
Ran around six miles, made two phone calls, visited my real estate broker, collected an $ 1100 security deposit from my renter, put together some shelves, took our recycling to the recycling center.

My Hugest Accomplishment of the Day: Hanging a fog free shave mirror from the shower head. It screws onto the pipe, and it has a little valve, through which a trickle of water flows, keeping the mirror fog free. It. Is. Amazing.

Now keep in mind, the run, which took 50 minutes, accounted for 40% of the total time spent on the aforementioned "accomplishments." And here I am, beaming with the type of pride ordinarily displayed only by a mentally-challenged kid who rolls a strike on his first visit to the bowling alley on the short bus. (Which may have been just the bus I was waiting for in the picture...)


That bird... My God! IT'S DRINKING THE WATER!!!!!!!!!!!!

Really. It was the highlight of my day. I can't wait to get in the shower and shave with the combined technological might of my Gillette Mach 3 and my Wal Mart fog free shave mirror. If I spring for the four-blade razor and got some fancy shaving cream, the pure science involved may just shoot my bathroom into outer space.

THAT'S NO MOON. THAT'S A SPACE STATION, with a fog free mirror.


I am getting a pretty good idea of what it is like to be 78 years old.

When you are unemployed, or 78, and all your basic needs are attended to, you soon find yourself wholly absorbed by the few relatively minor decisions you have to make.

For instance: the mortgages on both properties are paid ahead for several months; cars are paid for; we're insured for the necessary things; there's money in the bank to keep our green lunchboxes full of P,B&J's and Ho-Ho's for the foreseeable future.

So, a decision like, "What will I have for lunch?" takes on undue significance. Scant months ago, when I was packing three court appearances, two or three office appointments, 15 phone calls, 20 letters and countless emails into an average day, I spent 10 seconds deciding what to do for lunch, or forgetting it entirely.

Now, I wake up thinking about lunch. It is the most important decision of my day. One does not trifle with lunch.

For the record, I had two grilled, spicy, turkey-chicken sausages, on oven-toasted buns, with some dried mango slices and leftover cheese and crackers from my hike. It was sublime, and had I not hung the fog-free shave mirror, it would have contended for the best thing I did this week.

Suddenly, I am the little, old lady who cannot do anything else on Wednesday because she has a hair appointment that day. And I am thinking of blocking off Tuesday and Thursday, just to be sure.

Because you never know.

I am also considering covering my furniture and remote controls in plastic, crocheting kleenex box covers, and making clothespin reindeer magnets for my refrigerator.

Hey, that's not a bad idea.