After reviewing the ensemble I chose to wear for the day – to a well-attended class where many, many people saw me – I decided I should probably be an influencer. This cigar smoking habit which I contemplated perfecting in retirement is not really taking hold. I’m bad at it and practicing is pretty icky.

However, I am quite capable of putting together a clothing choice which some might consider repeatable. Every year I review the contents of my closet and every year I keep the boys’ prep school jacket from Enniskillen, Ireland. It was a thrift-store find years ago which I proudly wear, about once a year. It has a little logo patch with red in it, so I managed to accentuate that with a flaming red pair of “old lady” shoes. They are not attractive, but functional, and received a comment leading me to consider “influencing.” I’m pretty sure my audience would be extremely limited. (Like this blog.)

At least I was comfortable.

If I do not answer your phone call, text, or email, it’s because it’s difficult to do until approximately 4:00 pm on a Wednesday.

Today I was able to sneak in a text or two due to nap schedules, otherwise, all bets are off. However, the magical time of 4:00 pm is when the twins are sleeping and the eldest is at gymnastics. Then, I can speak, wash dishes, and perhaps finish the laundry I might have begun early morning. Or write. All of which can wait until another day, too! Chalk art and bubbles are way more fun.

It sure is entertaining around here and I wouldn’t change a thing. Now – to finish cleaning that kitchen. Or maybe put my feet up?

Options for seating just get less comfortable as I age.

The recliners we so loved when purchased – too big for me. They always were, I suppose, but I could wriggle around them more freely. The kitchen table chairs are too big, also, but it’s really difficult to find smaller seating when you are shopping these days. Everything seems over-sized, not the more petite form-fitting style of the 50’s and 60’s. And if you use those older chairs, of which we have six in our basement, they are too short for the modern dining table. Even the piano bench needs to be raised if I’m to sit properly.

Perhaps the common denominator is me. I’m too short and obviously crankier the more I sit. Ding, ding, ding! Tim to get off my duff and exercise more.

Home again savoring the Sunday puzzles and football games. What a wonderful weekend. I think the cigar taste is finally out of my mouth and my skinned knees and elbow less obvious. I’m guessing my guardian angel rolls her eyes quite frequently and definitely got her share of over-time the last few days!

Returning from a trip made in autumn is always a chance to scrub-a-dub-dub the bugs from your vehicle. It truly smelled like a fishing wharf as literally there was a blood and guts display on the truck. Although quite smelly, it was satisfying to reintroduce the shine to the transport. I’m ready for the next adventure.

Oh – that would be taking care of the grands tomorrow!

Even though I am publishing in a Saturday time zone, it’s still really Friday. And what a Friday it has been!

Thank you to all who sent me sympathies on the loss of my aunt – the reason for my return to “The Good Life,” this weekend. And, returning for a funeral is always an occasion to see my cousins and remaining aunts and uncles. Every time we get together we run through a veritable “who’s who” in regard to cousins. I have 52 first cousins. Knowing their children is beyond me, knowing their spouses is a guess! Now, granted they aren’t all here, it’s still a reintroduction most times, since apparently we don’t look like the people we remember from childhood and obviously can’t remember from the last funeral. Imagine that?

Other than that, I spent the day being chauffeured by my brother to lovely retail opportunities, including a pumpkin sales stand where I managed to trip over a wagon hitch and fall in the gravel, scraping myself nicely. It really was an opportunity to involve a lawyer, but hey, we take these episodes with a grain of salt in the heartland. (And I’m really okay. I didn’t break anything! And my dress for the funeral will cover my skinned knees. All is fine.)

We ended the evening with a lovely cigar by the fire and a bit of bourbon. My brother, sister and I enjoyed many a laugh at our own expense, reminisced and laughed at our parent’s expense, and extended the evening into the next day here. Tomorrow – today – we will continue finding the joy in being with family.

Eschewing the electric can opener, wine bottle opener, and salt and pepper grinders, I also use a hand mixer for my fantastic baked concoctions. (Ahem.)

”You use it or lose it,” has been my motto for the kitchen. And believe me, those cans are getting harder to open. Some of them arrive bent and that is a challenge. Then we have to involve a kitchen knife to pry up the last quarter inch of tin! Danger at every turn.

Other than that, we use all of the conveniences afforded us in this little world, and yes, we are grateful, sending our prayers to those in Helene’s wake who must start over.

We have a roof over our heads!

I’d forgotten how incredibly noisy this replacement process is. I’m in awe of the men who are up there on the slant scraping, and slightly concerned about nails that may be finding hiding spots. What a mess! And all of this goes into the landfill. It’s hard to believe we can’t find better material for hail resistance.

Which reminds me, I need to water my plants. They have finally recovered from June’s storm. It only took a few months, and just in time to start winterizing around here.

First world problems.

We woke to the sound of the neighbor’s roof undergoing its transformation. Ours begins tomorrow. And then this song popped into my head – and I had to research. ‘Don’t let the rain come down.” That ultra-famous tune by the Serendipity Singers.

Turns out it was actually a Mother Goose rhyme they adapted for our musical delight. It’s the theme of the week around here as we listen to the rat-a-tat-tat above us. I’m not reprinting the lyrics as they are already driving me nuts in my addled brain.

“There was a crooked man,”

BY MOTHER GOOSE

There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

Driving into the city of Denver reminded me of an earlier time.

The roads today were atrocious – slowing, stopping, you assumed there had to be an accident. No. Just too many people out driving on a major thoroughfare. And then I remembered. Oh yeah. My son drove this road with his learner’s permit because I thought it would be a great experience for him!

I don’t know if he remembers, but we were going to an event downtown and it was rush hour. What was I thinking? Obviously, I thought he was capable! He was, and still is, a great driver. Very conscientious of passengers. (I frequently reminded him to drive like his grandmother was in the car.) The look on the parking attendant’s face was priceless as he peered into the car with me passing the cash over. “Is he really old enough?”

I don’t think I’d let a 15-year old drive that road today. The speed limit is higher, the traffic more condensed, and I’m definitely more skittish. Yet, what a fun memory. (I also let my 15-year old daughter drive a rental car over the Golden Gate Bridge on our vacation. What?)

Perhaps “driving instructor” is not in my wheel well?

Even though it is the “year of the purse,” and I did purchase a super cool satchel with a pompon on it and large enough to hold two babies, I do prefer pockets in my garments.

The pandemic truly gave me a reason to wear my four-pocketed vests and not drag a bag around. I got down to the basics – car keys, phone, credit card and lipstick. It all fit in pockets. It still does, and I look for that feature in anything I might happen to be donning for the day.

The sun is shining and there is no wind today. Looks like we’ve got a glorious day in our pockets!