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.”
