I’m aging rapidly, and I’m not happy. It’s not the passing of years that hurt as much as what they leave in their wake. I mean, I could accept that I’m up there in age if only the proof wasn’t thrown in my face nearly every waking moment.
For example, some things I’ve been doing worry me. My screw-ups are occurring more frequently, and I’m concerned that they could be symptomatic of something ominous.
Mighty Marc and I decided to decorate the outside of our house for the fall season. Other than placing a pumpkin or two on my front steps, and a tied bunch of dried Indian corn on my front door, I haven’t done much in the way of decorating my house since the kids grew up and moved out.
We drove to our local fruit and vegetable stand, which was so crowded we could barely find a parking spot. We live in the country and always shop at this place for fresh summer vegetables; especially Jersey corn, tomatoes and sweet juicy strawberries. This time of year, with Halloween and Thanksgiving coming, the place is particularly busy. Pumpkins, gourds, colorful mums, bales of hay, and dried corn stalks are everywhere. People bring their children and come in droves from nearby and distant towns and cities, to take part in the fall festivities.
There’s a huge cornfield maze, pony rides, pumpkin painting contests, face painting, hay rides, and a petting zoo with pigs, sheep, goats, and a baby calf. Chickens freely roam the grounds. People run through fields selecting and picking pumpkins. They sit at picnic tables and enjoy barbecued chicken and ribs, pulled pork, baked beans, cole slaw, and even fried Italian zeppole.
It was in this joyful arena that we wandered around looking for items to decorate the outside of our home.
Mighty Marc was packing our selections into the car while I stayed behind, paid at the register, and took part in the following ridiculous conversation:
“Will you be needing twine?” asked the salesgirl.
“I don’t know. Why would I need twine?”
“To tie your corn stalks to the roof,” she answered.
“Gee, I don’t think so,” I said. “That sounds pretty dangerous.”
I looked across the parking lot at Marc and yelled out to him. “Do you need twine to tie the corn stalks onto the roof? You won’t be doing that, will you?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I will be tying them onto the roof.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I turned to the salesgirl. “I can’t believe it; the man is 78 years old. When is he going to stop being so reckless and start paying attention to his age?”
She ignored my comment. “What kind of a car do you have?”.
“Why? What has that got to do with anything?” I asked.
“Then I’ll know how much twine to give you for the roof.
“……………………..oh.”
How the heck was I supposed to know she wasn’t talking about the roof of our house? People put lights, reindeer, and Santa and his sled there for Christmas, don’t they? Why not corn stalks for Halloween? I was beyond mortified, but also a little concerned about my mental health.
I walked to the car and watched Mighty Marc tie the corn stalks to the car roof, all the while wondering where my brain had been during my conversation with the salesgirl. Perhaps I left it in the corn maze, where I had actually gotten lost for about five scarey minutes a short while earlier. A six year old had directed me to the exit.
When he finished securing the corn stalks Mighty Marc got into the car. “What were your last words to me when we exited the car to go into the garden center?” he asked.
I thought for a second. “I asked you to please lock up because I was leaving my purse in the car.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought you said, and I did as you asked. But just now, when I
returned to the car I saw you had left your passenger’s window wide open – and your purse was lying right there on the seat, for all to view and to grab.”
“……..(silence)……….I guess it’s good I had you lock the door, isn’t it?”.
If you think that’s bad, I won’t tell you about another incident that occurred just this morning. It involved a spider and a cardboard toilet paper roll. To relay the incident would only give credence to the fact that I’m no longer strolling toward Aging Brain Impairment; I’ve begun to sprint.
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