More Delights and Disdains . . .
of a diminutive nature of late . . . Number 34
Disdains:
Calling for Brett Kavanaugh the Kitten1 and not hearing him (or her since I never got the chance to figure out if his or her pronouns matched its/their anatomy). It hung around outside until it decided not to. I had tried to lure it close to me with some horrible cat treats, but in the end, we settled on a mutually beneficial three day relationship based on mistrust. I won’t speculate too much on where it has gotten to. Let’s just hope it didn’t end up in Schrodinger’s box.
Waiting on the tree man to show up while discovering that I am taking on the impatient attributes of an old man. I cannot be that impatient since he will be cutting down a tree that fell a year ago during Helene. Is it a Parkinson’s induced impatience? I guess that it wouldn’t be a disease if it induced euphoria. Nah, my impatience was part of my normal pre-Parkinson’s psyche. I inherited a “hurry up to get there so that we can leave” mentality. Parkinson’s teaches patience and is one of its cardinal virtues.
Re-discovering that driving an Italian car threatens my mobile independence (as if I didn’t already know that based on past experience). A few weeks back, I had to take the car in for an ignition coil replacement and it took the dealer two weeks to fix it. No problem. I assumed that my 30 year old Ford truck would prove to be a reliable backup vehicle. Unfortunately, its speedometer stopped working and I found that my mobility was dependent upon the mercy of friends and relatives.
Delights:
Having my nephews deliver my freshly repaired truck, sporting a new instrument panel, to my house. They own an excellent auto repair shop in Travelers Rest. Either they are very considerate or looking for an excuse to get away from their employees. I will go with them being considerate.
Watching the tree man work while being grateful that I am an old man and can’t do that kind of hard work like I used to do. As a teenager, I spent many Saturdays cutting trees to feed the fireplace stove that we used to heat my parent’s house. Those were the 1970s and they were definitely not the good old days. Many people think the golden days were when they were younger or at some point further back in history. I cannot think of a better time that I would rather live than the present.