Friday, July 9. At ten a. m. I slipped out into the day’s heat to deposit the brand new car-insurance card into the Taurus. I’ll clean out the glove compartment later.
Then back to the office after having had to ask the plumber’s son to hand me a sleeve of crackers from a cupboard—the unhooked dishwasher in the doorway precluded getting them myself. But, sans coffee, I reached through the doorway to a different cupboard and pulled out a packet of instant tea that I mixed with bathroom-sink water. Ah!
John and Kyle have been working under the sink area since a little before eight this morning. I was watering the plants outside with water that had dripped from the not-quite-shut shutoff valves under the now-sinkless space during the night. Which meant getting up every three hours to change the container.
Yesterday, Mark, the carpenter worked in the crowded space sawing out wood that covered the ancient pipes (think1932) that had been leaking long enough, unbeknownst to me, to have rotted out the flooring underneath. Not letting any water escape from the sink faucets had been my modus operandi since November. Which meant closing off the sink drains and handwashing dishes. Not too much of a chore, and it took me back to “the old days” when mothers and grandmothers did that very thing as a matter of course. At least, I didn’t have to draw water from the well!
Waking from a nap, I went to the roadside to retrieve the mail and the Saline Courier. On the way back, I noticed a basket holding an elegant, healthy dish garden, a gift from my Florida son. Why I hadn’t noticed it on the way out of the house is puzzling. The mail was rife with birthday cards from siblings, children and friends. I’m well loved if that’s any indication.
Now it’s Saturday, July 10, 9 p.m. Thinking over this post-birthday day brings a smile and a full stomach of leftovers from our Baja Grill meal. My Hot Springs son/wife/daughter treated me to a gift lunch. The Baja Grill on South Street in Benton, occupies the place that used to hold the Palace Theater (before my time), then the Public Library that I DO remember. At one time, pigeon poop weakened the ceiling of the library and it all came tumbling down.
Recently, after much back-and-forth by the city fathers about what to do with the building space, someone bought it. What is now standing is a marvel of ingenuity and creativity. You can research the place to find out more. The menu surely fits every kind of food anyone has ever eaten or thought about. I had chicken nachos, Lainee had Chipotle nachos, Lisa, a quesadilla, and Eric a Pig Sooie burrito twice as large as those I’ve seen before. We three women took home what we couldn’t eat, and I ate probably a third of what I brought home, hence the full stomach as I write.
As a friend from childhood posted on my social media page, “They (birthdays) just keep coming around.” “Yes,” I answered, “and aren’t we glad.”
c 2021 PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA