RE: “Outta the house”
“A massive sugar-hit is all wrong.”
That’s what I woulda told ***** the lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool.
She was not there today, Sunday. As she said to me once, she’s entitled to a day off per week.
I usually only see ***** twice per week, the Tuesdays and Thursdays of my aquacise class at the YMCA pool.
She learned my name, and seems to enjoy my serenading her with sick jokes.
Talking to her also reverses my parents’ convincing me I was totally unworthy of female attention. With ***** they spin in their graves.
“Were it not that I also have to hit Weggers here in town, I woulda skipped this pool,” I’d add. (It was the sugar-hit.)
Sunday is not my aquacise class. It’s on-my-own. I’ll probably text that to ******-**** too. She’s my aquacise coach.
Last night the lady who boarded my dog for long trips had her annual Christmas-cookie exchange. She has a boarding kennel. She loved my dog too, and came for moral support when I put my beloved dog to sleep.
When my wife died five years ago I was quickly told I needed people. So I started doing that despite being a loner. I go to everything I can: fulfillment of that advice.
But I’m not sure I “need people.” It’s pleasant to attend, but I return to an empty house — and I’m not bored or lonely therein.
My counselor, begun because my wife died, tells me I’m lucky to have so many interests. Many retirees don’t. In my house this laptop awaits: train-pictures to process, I do an annual computer calendar of train-pictures, words to key in (this blog for example), wrastling computer problems......
Every morning, during breakfast, engage pencil and legal-pad, and “sling words.” That’s what I call it: writing I guess. (My muse won’t shut up.)
It’s the talent I was blessed with. Been doin’ it since college, even before I guess.
“But Dr. Zink” (my 12th-grade English-teacher), “it’s only ‘slinging words.’”
“Hughes, you do that way better than most,” he told me.
I began to realize “the best friend I ever had” was me. My wife was second, but sorely needed after my childhood.
I noticed in college I could entertain myself, i.e. I had my own life to live. Sick of studying I drew ’55 Chevys, which at that time were my main automotive lust.
Drawing was vaporized by my stroke = unsteady hands. Fortunately I didn’t lose my writing. Some stroke-victims do. Even though I return to an empty house — no dog either —my writing awaits.
I suppose that’s what made my father angriest: the fact I didn’t need his approval to make myself happy.
So here I was at this cookie exchange. I always feel a little out-of-it at these shindigs. Like my primary goal is to not offend anyone; “no politics or religion,” I told someone. “I don’t wanna lose friends.”
“Ya mean I can blurt anything?” I remarked — except I defer of course.
“With Blasio New York City is returning to becoming a cesspool,” someone commented. Ain’t touchin’ that with a 10-foot pole. Amazingly I detailed a Rush Limbaugh faux pas without offending anyone. But no Trump comments.
“Well *****,” I said as I started to leave. “No supper fer this kid. Too much sugar.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” ***** said. It was snowy. “I’m glad you came; get you outta the house.”
“I return to an empty house,” I commented. “But not lonely,” I thought later. As always I’ll entertain myself, usually with this here laptop.
• “Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester where I often buy groceries. They have a store in Canandaigua. (“Canandaigua” is a small city to the east nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles east. I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• RE: “train-pictures” and “calendar of train-pictures....” —My younger brother and I are both railfans. We frequently go to Altoona, PA, to chase and photograph trains. Altoona is where the Pennsylvania Railroad crossed Allegheny Mountain, long ago a barrier to east-west trade. That railroad is no longer “Pennsy;” it’s now Norfolk Southern. But it’s still extremely busy. I use the pictures my brother and I took to create an annual computer calendar.
• I graduated college in 1966. ’55 Chevys were very desirable in the early ‘60s.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
That’s what I woulda told ***** the lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool.
She was not there today, Sunday. As she said to me once, she’s entitled to a day off per week.
I usually only see ***** twice per week, the Tuesdays and Thursdays of my aquacise class at the YMCA pool.
She learned my name, and seems to enjoy my serenading her with sick jokes.
Talking to her also reverses my parents’ convincing me I was totally unworthy of female attention. With ***** they spin in their graves.
“Were it not that I also have to hit Weggers here in town, I woulda skipped this pool,” I’d add. (It was the sugar-hit.)
Sunday is not my aquacise class. It’s on-my-own. I’ll probably text that to ******-**** too. She’s my aquacise coach.
Last night the lady who boarded my dog for long trips had her annual Christmas-cookie exchange. She has a boarding kennel. She loved my dog too, and came for moral support when I put my beloved dog to sleep.
When my wife died five years ago I was quickly told I needed people. So I started doing that despite being a loner. I go to everything I can: fulfillment of that advice.
But I’m not sure I “need people.” It’s pleasant to attend, but I return to an empty house — and I’m not bored or lonely therein.
My counselor, begun because my wife died, tells me I’m lucky to have so many interests. Many retirees don’t. In my house this laptop awaits: train-pictures to process, I do an annual computer calendar of train-pictures, words to key in (this blog for example), wrastling computer problems......
Every morning, during breakfast, engage pencil and legal-pad, and “sling words.” That’s what I call it: writing I guess. (My muse won’t shut up.)
It’s the talent I was blessed with. Been doin’ it since college, even before I guess.
“But Dr. Zink” (my 12th-grade English-teacher), “it’s only ‘slinging words.’”
“Hughes, you do that way better than most,” he told me.
I began to realize “the best friend I ever had” was me. My wife was second, but sorely needed after my childhood.
I noticed in college I could entertain myself, i.e. I had my own life to live. Sick of studying I drew ’55 Chevys, which at that time were my main automotive lust.
Drawing was vaporized by my stroke = unsteady hands. Fortunately I didn’t lose my writing. Some stroke-victims do. Even though I return to an empty house — no dog either —my writing awaits.
I suppose that’s what made my father angriest: the fact I didn’t need his approval to make myself happy.
So here I was at this cookie exchange. I always feel a little out-of-it at these shindigs. Like my primary goal is to not offend anyone; “no politics or religion,” I told someone. “I don’t wanna lose friends.”
“Ya mean I can blurt anything?” I remarked — except I defer of course.
“With Blasio New York City is returning to becoming a cesspool,” someone commented. Ain’t touchin’ that with a 10-foot pole. Amazingly I detailed a Rush Limbaugh faux pas without offending anyone. But no Trump comments.
“Well *****,” I said as I started to leave. “No supper fer this kid. Too much sugar.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” ***** said. It was snowy. “I’m glad you came; get you outta the house.”
“I return to an empty house,” I commented. “But not lonely,” I thought later. As always I’ll entertain myself, usually with this here laptop.
• “Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester where I often buy groceries. They have a store in Canandaigua. (“Canandaigua” is a small city to the east nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles east. I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• RE: “train-pictures” and “calendar of train-pictures....” —My younger brother and I are both railfans. We frequently go to Altoona, PA, to chase and photograph trains. Altoona is where the Pennsylvania Railroad crossed Allegheny Mountain, long ago a barrier to east-west trade. That railroad is no longer “Pennsy;” it’s now Norfolk Southern. But it’s still extremely busy. I use the pictures my brother and I took to create an annual computer calendar.
• I graduated college in 1966. ’55 Chevys were very desirable in the early ‘60s.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
posted by BobbaLew at 11:27 AM
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