Monthly Archives: September 2005

Getting Old


First there was the hearing, like when my 14-year-old niece commented on how loud I had the radio on (she thought I was cool, but I’m really just deaf). Then there was the eyesight, which went from “I need glasses to drive” to “I need glasses to watch TV” to “I need glasses to see who’s sitting across the room from me.” Then the ankle. I sprained my ankle climbing and couldn’t even step on it for three days. I had to roll around the house on my office chair until I got a pair of crutches. “Old age” Tanya said. “We’re getting old.” Now it’s allergies. Every time I sit on my couch I start sneezing. I’ve vacuumed the cat hair off of it and kicked the cats out of the bed. I even got allergy wipes for the cats. I wash the bed sheets every week and the comforters every month, and I’ve bought a lifetime supply of Claritin (well, really Walitin). Still sneezing. So last night I got on NationalAllergy.com and ordered dustmite covers for my mattress, box spring and pillows, anti-dust mite spray for the couch and anti-dust mite powder for the laundry. Did you know that most beds and couches and pillows have dust mites, microscopic bugs that eat your dead skin, then shit, and it’s dust mite shit most people are allergic to? Isn’t that disgusting? We’re all living not only with these gross bugs but their shit, too?

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Carlos, still calling

After writing the last entry, I set down my computer and picked up my cell phone (still on silent). Two more missed calls from a private number. Carlos, stop calling me!

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Stop Calling Me, Carlos

The other day I called my brother on his cell phone. Wrong number. I got a guy named Carlos, who doesn’t speak much English. “Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number,” I told him. My brother had obviously changed his cell phone number. Carlos called me back, but I didn’t answer. I deleted my brother’s number from my phone so I wouldn’t accidentally answer Carlos’ calls, thinking it was my brother. Carlos called again, this time, private number. I told him again that I was sorry I dialed the wrong number. “Who are you?” he said. “What your name?” “Sorry, I dialed the wrong number,” I told him and hung up. He called back. I didn’t answer. He didn’t leave a message. He called again. I didnt answer. He didn’t leave a message. Two nights ago the phone rang at 3:45 a.m., 6:45 a.m. Carlos’ time. Then again two hours later, at 6 a.m. Last night I put my phone on silent and this morning there were two missed calls from a private number. Please stop calling me, Carlos. Por favor.

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SOX

This isn’t new news. People have been losing their socks in the wash for decades. There are dozens of jokes about it, I’m sure. But three in one load? THREE? My three favorite pairs of socks came out of the wash last week without their mates. I lined them up on the chair in the bedroom and went downstairs to the dryer, thinking there must be another load that hadn’t yet been folded. Nothing. Empty washer; empty dryer. No socks in the floor and none in the hamper. I searched the bath towels, the kitchen towels, my underwear drawer. Nothing.

Maybe they’re stuck in some bedsheet in the hall closet and I’ll feel them under my skin the next time I change the sheets. Or maybe they’re just gone, into the void, like my cat. First, I lost the mates of two pairs of similar socks, so I wore the widows together, one with flowers and one with stripes, but no one seemed to notice. Now the striped widow has disappeared, too, perhaps to join its striped husband in sock heaven.

When I was a kid I remember buying these colored plastic rings that had triangle teeth in the middle like the top of a Wet Ones container. My socks didn’t get lost, but they came out with a zig zag design in the middle where the plastic rings had pinched them too tight. I suppose they have new and improved sock rings today, but why should life be so complicated? Why can’t I just wash my socks and wear them the next day?

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Book Worm

This makes my reading list look really pathetic. A quote from my grandfather’s memoir: “For six years I read a volume a day, average.”

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Happy Birthday


If my mother were alive today, she would be 82.
Happy Birthday, Mom!

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Off the Advil

Fourth day without caffeine. Made it without Advil today. No headaches at all.

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