93-year-old nosy neighbor

Last Sunday (February 3, 2007) we went to visit our 93-year-old nosy neighbor, who is in a living-center 30 miles away in Geneva.
Actually, it’s more a rehab-hospital; except some of those there will probably never get out alive.
“They can’t believe I’m 93,” he said. Most of the patients are in their 80s.
“July 10, 1913,” he said. “You figure it out.”
He seemed pretty much himself; that is, still ornery.
“I might be going home soon,” he said. “It depends on whether I can keep from falling.”
“They walk me pretty much, and I can dress myself.”
He still seems to have his penchant for snide remarks.
“Every morning; eggs for breakfast,” he said.
“Whaddya got, a chicken-farm?” he asked a nurse.
“You keep feedin’ me these eggs, and you’ll turn me into a chicken.”
Despite utterly predictable fulminations from West Bridgewater, we made the entire trip without a widdle-stop; and in fact, didn’t use the bathroom until leaving. (Inquiring minds wanna know.........)
It was unlike our motorbike-trip to the mighty Curve, where we had to stop at mighty Sheetz south of Milesburg, a widdle-stop I usually skip.
‘Dew-boy had slugged a ‘Dew in Williamsport, and had to unload.
Usually I go straight-through Williamsport-to-Altoony, but Jack was leading. This was after gassing-up at a huge Texaco truck-stop on the old 220 just north of the mighty Milesburg exit.
We worry about the 93-year-old nosy neighbor, but I think he hasn’t given up yet.
If he can get on his many lawn-tractors (and we may have to help), he’ll probably be a-mowin’ come summer.
Scootin’ around, pedal-to-the-metal.