2nd Wind, August 2003

"I was thinking about old age and decided that is when you still have
something on the ball, but you are just too tired to bounce it."

I've often thought how much I'd like to listen in on my own Memorial service. People say such complimentary things then, and probably never said them to the honoree when he/she would have enjoyed them. This birthday brought a shower of cards saying all the nice things one likes to hear (deserved or not). I feel like I've had the rare privilege of peeking in on my own farewell.  Thank you so much. I loved it.

July's 2nd W. was already at the printer's before my birthday, so this is a belated report. A dear friend, who I will refer to as Annie (short for Anonymous), was hostess to a birthday luncheon for me. Had you seen the tables and the food you would have wondered how Martha Stewart could have taken time to come to our little town. It was a wonderful relaxed visit planned for ten friends. (I'm not sure if I should also count Annie's husband, Amous, who escaped to the basement.) Annie had asked me, at least three weeks in advance, if I would be free on my Saturday birthday. Beth had already started plans for a weekend visit from a friend I hadn't seen for thirty years, so we tentatively agreed the party would probably be on Thursday, two days before the actual date.  At one point Annie asked me if I had any favorite foods and, not knowing whether it was to be a luncheon or a dessert occasion, I played it safe and told her "anything chocolate."  The morning before the "probably Thursday," I still wasn't sure the party was the next day.  I assumed it would be at Annie's house, but what time, and do I eat in advance? I couldn't phone any friends to ask, because I didn't know the guest list and would be sure to phone someone not invited. Mid-day, Thelma phoned Beth to ask directions to the Anonymous home and Beth learned there was indeed a luncheon at 11:30 on Thursday.  Thelma wondered if I needed a ride.  I didn't know! If Thelma picked me up and another driver, arranged by the hostess, came to find no one home (Beth would be gone that day), then what? Soooo......That evening I phoned Annie, "I don't want to be overly curious, but when am I due tomorrow and is anyone picking me up?" Annie gasped. She said, "I can't believe I double-checked everyone else and left the guest of honor out."  Later she suggested maybe they planned to have the party and hoped I wouldn't find out.

Have you read the poem, "When I Am An Old Woman I Will Wear Purple"?

The day of the luncheon I wore a purple dress, purple socks, purple earrings and purple lipstick. I didn't have any purple eye shadow, but the aftermath of an eye infection qualified one eye, at least.  Quite by coincidence, Thelma's gift was a plaque with that poem.

THEN, our Saturday guests couldn't come, due to a death in the family, so it was agreed Beth and Ed's would pick me up to go out to eat, either Saturday or Sunday. When Beth was leaving Friday night I said, "I guess I'll see you this weekend."  She answered, "Well, of course, we're taking you to lunch tomorrow." I was glad to know that!  I ask you, do my friends and family credit me with being psychic, or do they think it's more fun to celebrate without me?

On my actual birthday, I received a phone call from Billie, who is 95. She had asked Diana, "How old is Darlys?" When Diana told Billie I would be 89, Billie blew that aside with, "She's just a young chick."

On Friday the temperature had been 106, and THE day didn't promise to be much better. By the time Beth phoned to say they were on the way to pick me up, I was wilting, and said, "I don't want to be a party-pooper, but how about bringing in take-out food?"  They arrived with interesting cartons of Chinese food, put a beach towel on the living room floor for their table and I was comfy in my recliner with a lap tray.  Beth called our tenant, Robert, to come join us. Robert and Beth spent most of the dinner time commiserating with each other on problems they'd had with their mothers. The whole birthday celebration couldn't have been better.

My cousin, Kim, wrote: "Beth's Volkswagen bus story reminds me of when I was teaching (in the Depression years) and staying in a hotel mostly for residents. I parked my Chevie coupe in front of the hotel and later in the evening noticed an identical car parked next to it.  There was a meeting in the hotel at 7:00 and people had come from the local towns to attend it. In the morning, when I left for school, I was surprised to see I had a full tank of gas. When I had parked the night before, the gauge registered "almost empty." There were few gas stations then and they closed early.  I could only guess the owner of the other Chevie had rushed out during the meeting to fill his tank before the station closed.  Evidently his key had fit my car. I could only hope he got home O.K."

Earlier, while I was writing a note on the computer, Flibby walked across the keyboard and the result was "pppooooo." I thought it rather impolite to trivialize what I had said, and I was amazed she has learned to spell.

Flibby, the Johnny-Come-Lately mighty hunter has struck again. We were napping together in my recliner when suddenly she rocketed off my lap. Usually that means someone is coming up the steps. Since no one rang the doorbell, I had relaxed again when I heard the triumphant feline yowl which translates into  "I got it!" "It" was a tiny lizard and I couldn't tell whether he was permanently immobilized or scared stiff. I took the cowardly approach (figuring he wasn't salvageable) and left the room, not wanting to witness the final rites. When I returned, the lizard had disappeared, but Flibby was frantically searching. Now, I'll be worried over its new location, which I hope is NOT in my bed. The other night, when I turned the covers down, a very large black spider tried to scuttle back out of sight. I wanted to just brush him off, but he was too fast for me and got back under the covers. So there was I, whomping the entire bed with my heavy buckwheat pillow. Got him, too!

That reminds me of a story I've told before, but not since 1990 (I hope). We once had a pet hamster that, one night (unknown to us), was AWOL in the house.  We heard our usually sedate senior cat gallumping around all night and wondered, drowsily, what had pepped up the old boy. Finally, the hamster, no doubt very tired of playing catnip mouse, clambered up the side of our bed, between the sheets, and scuttled up the inside of George's pajama leg.  No alarm clock has ever rivaled that awakening. George was one wild Irishman, clutching and hollering, and I had no idea what was going on. The hamster seemed relatively unharmed and lived to a ripe old age (in hamster terms).  The experience certainly didn't shorten George's life either as he made it past 94.

I forgot to tell you, my birthday party also included a shower. "A shower?" you say. "Is she headed for wedded bliss? Has she decided to join the crowd and be a single mom?"  I'll let you think about that until next month.

P.S.  Next month's issue will be dedicated to Flibby and Ferd, my companions of 14 years. After this copy was already written, Flibby joined her brother in the great catnip fields in the sky.  It is strange to be pet-less.

            Shalom,    Darlys
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Bubba was a hard-shell Southern Baptist. He loved to sneak away to the race track. One day he was betting on the ponies and losing his shirt, when he noticed a priest step onto the track and bless the forehead of one of the horses lining up for the 4th race. Lo and behold, that horse - a very long shot - won the race. Bubba was most interested to see what the priest would do the next race.

Sure enough, he watched him step out onto the track, as the horses lined up for the fifth race, and place a blessing on the forehead of one of the horses. Bubba made a beeline for a window and placed a small bet on that horse. Again, even though another long shot, the horse the priest had blessed won the race. Bubba collected his winnings and anxiously waited to see which horse the priest blessed in the 6th race. The priest showed, and bestowed his blessing on a horse. Bubba bet in it and it won! Bubba was elated!

As the day went on, the priest continued blessing one of the horses and that one always came in first. Bubba began to pull in some serious money, and by the last race, he knew his wildest dreams were going to come true. He made a quick trip to the ATM, withdrew big money and awaited the priest's blessing that would tell him which horse to bet on. True to the pattern the priest stepped onto the track, then blessed the forehead, eyes and hooves of one of the horses. Bubba bet every cent, then watched that horse come in dead last. He was dumbfounded. He made his way to the track and when he found the priest, he demanded, "What happened, Father? All day you blessed horses and they won. Now, thanks to you, I've lost my savings!"

The priest nodded wisely, and said, "That's the problem with you Baptists. You can't tell the difference between a simple blessing and the last rites.

In the mid 1960's a US Navy cruiser put into port in Mobile, Alabama for a week's R&R. The first evening, the Captain was surprised to receive the following letter from the wife of a very wealthy plantation owner and philanthropist.

"Dear Captain: On Thursday we will be holding my daughter, Susan's, debutante ball. I would like you to send four well-mannered, handsome, unmarried officers. They should arrive at 8 P.M. sharp, prepared for an evening of polite Southern conversation and dancing with lovely young ladies. P.S. No Jews."

Sure enough, at 8 P.M. on Thursday, the lady watched as her butler answered a rap on the door. There, in dress uniform, stood four handsome, exquisitely mannered and smiling African-American naval officers. Her lower jaw hit the floor, but pulling herself together, she stammered, "There must be some mistake." "Madam," said the first officer, "Captain Goldberg doesn't make mistakes."