For years, we had a gray patterned comforter on our bed. The recent heat dome made that weight just uncomfortable, so we moved it to the quilt rack in our bedroom and began to use a lightweight blanket instead. This is important because the comforter was on the quilt rack nearly all summer.
Then the heat wave broke and an “incident” occurred about which my husband and I agree on only two aspects of the story.
It was the middle of the first night in which the temperatures fell below 80 degrees. They fell into the 50s and the little blanket wasn’t keeping us warm. Both of us wanted another blanket but neither wanted to get up.
The first thing we agree upon is that my hubby got up first – to use the bathroom. Since he was up, I groggily assumed he could also get a blanket.
According to HIM, the rest of the incident went like this:
As he was walking to the bathroom, still in a deep sleep state, I barked at him (like a drill sergeant), “Get a blanket.” He looked at the rocking chair – which used to have a couple of blankets in it, but didn’t, and asked, “Where are the blankets, dear?” (again, this is HIS version).
Then, according to him, I snarled out, “in the nursery.” So he stumbled into the nursery, in the dark so as to not awaken me with any lights, grabbed a few blankets, and thoughtfully brought them back to me before using the bathroom.
Now, this is what ACTUALLY happened (my version).
When I heard him get up, I roused myself from a deep sleep and tried to look at the quilt rack. It was dark and I couldn’t see but I asked, sweetly, “Isn’t there a blanket over there?”
He grunted a response and I woke up enough to realize that the comforter was no longer there – we had moved it to our guest room a couple of weeks prior.
At that point, he growled at me, “Where are the blankets?”
I replied, “There’s a stack in the nursery, honey.”
He went to the nursery, making an incredible amount of noise because he wouldn’t turn a light on, and returned a few minutes later. Tossing me two blankets, he went to the bathroom.
Here’s the second point on which we agree. The two blankets he threw in my general direction were both BABY blankets. One for my feet and one for my knees, I guessed.
He swears he couldn’t tell they were baby blankets in the dark. I put them over the bed and added my robe, while he used the third (full-sized) blanket he had gotten.
The next morning, we bickered about which of these versions was accurate. We didn’t really agree on a conclusion, because honestly we were too busy laughing at each other to decide.
But mine is the accurate one, just for the record.

I have a hate-hate relationship with my printer. It hates me and I hate it right back. I’m sure there are better printers in the world, but I’ve gotten to know this one and frankly, I don’t want to have to learn another system. This one is painful enough.
Example – and this is a typical day in a typical month:
I’m printing away on a project for work or church and I get notified on my computer that I cannot print in black. My computer helpfully displays a little chart that shows “black” ink is empty. Since I’m printing in black and white, this seems like a reasonable thing to address immediately. Especially since the printer won’t print if I don’t.
I go through the steps to insert a new black ink cartridge. They are relatively easy steps and don’t take too long. When I finish, I glance at the helpful display chart. Several other ink colors appear to be low, but all have some.
Great! I have a 5-page list to print and then I can address these other ink cartridges. So I finish replacing the black ink, put the top down and then….I wait. I have to wait because the printer is “initializing.” What the heck is “initializing”? I just changed an ink cartridge! It’s new! Why can’t it just print??!! It takes a full five minutes to finish this process and I still don’t know what it is. Is it like what happens at dry cleaners? Martinizing? No idea.
But it’s finally done. I press print on my job and the printer display comes up once again. It will not print, because now the printer is out of “photo black.” It wasn’t empty six minutes ago. Plus, I just added a new black ink cartridge and I’m printing a black and white document, so why can’t it just print it?
Arg. I get a new photo black ink cartridge out of the box (this not being my first rodeo, I always buy all the colors at one time). Let me digress to say that getting the new ink cartridge out is not a simple task. They seal these things with the glue that holds rockets together. But, I prevail. I open it, follow the steps and close the lid.
Then I wait for the initializing. AGAIN. I read the chart closely this time and the cyan, magenta and yellow all okay. Cyan and yellow are a bit low, but they have some. Since I’m printing a normal black and white document, this should be no problem.
Finally, the printer comes on and is ready to use. I press “print” and the display box pops up once again. YELLOW is out. Oh for heaven’s sake. I DO NOT NEED yellow to print a list of books. COME ON.
So off I go to the ink cartridge box to get yellow. I follow the steps again, and finally, a half hour after I started, I print my list (in BLACK) on 5 short pages and close out the file.
Tomorrow, when I’m rested from this activity and no longer loathe (just hate at a normal level) my printer, I will take the time to change out cyan and magenta. Because I just know it’s waiting for me to try to print something in black.

It all started last week when I tried to pick up a delivery from our dining room door. Granted, the door is older, but I’ve opened it without incident dozens of times over the years. Being old, it takes a little effort to get the lock turned and the knob turned just right, but usually it goes without a hitch.
Not that day. I turned the lock and it didn’t move much. So I turned it harder and grasped the doorknob, pulling with some strength (mind you, I’m no Jack LaLanne, so this wasn’t some super-human pull on a doorknob). Be that as it may, the doorknob pulled off into my hand, while the door remained locked.
My husband, who, fortunately for me, is very handy, was able to fix it with tools and a screw he had in his workbench. This attack on our property cost him no money, but about an hour of his time.
No harm done.
A few days later, I opened my bottom dresser drawer to extract a pair of pants and the right hand knob came off in my hand. Well, it came off and rolled under the dresser, which was frustrating. Not only would my short arms not reach it, but I discovered a multitude of dust bunnies and cobwebs of which I had been unaware.
So, not only did I have to get out the Swiffer, but I was also unable to get any pants out of the drawer. I ended up retrieving the drawer knob and dusting in a dress.
My long-suffering husband, however, had to make a run to town for wood glue and spend more time fixing the knob so that it would hold – even against my seemingly incredible arm strength.
I might have chalked this up to coincidence but I know better. First off all, these kinds of things come in threes. And secondly, the cost was slowly building. I feared the next calamity would cost us more dearly.
I didn’t have long to wait. Yesterday, I was driving into the grocery store when it happened. There’s a sort of road that goes into the store parking lot that has a bend in it and on the right hand side, a curb. While I was entering, a car exiting drifted into my lane. (Let me digress to say, argh.). I chose not to be side-swiped by this distracted or poor driver and wrenched my wheel to the right. I heard – and felt – my front tire hit the curb.
As I pulled into the lot, my dashboard informed me my fears had been realized. I had “6 lb” of pressure in my tire. The driver of the other car was long gone, while I sat in the parking lot with a flat tire.
I called my husband and AAA, both of whom arrived on the scene. The roadside assistant put our spare tire (a ridiculous-looking bicycle tire good for about 20 miles) on the wheel in record time and I followed my husband out to the service shop.
Huzzah! Our tire was under warranty. This would cost us nothing but time!
Yeah, not so fast, the universe replied. THAT tire is free, but it turns out all your tires need replaced. How about forking over about $800 to insure you keep driving safely.
Eight hundred? That’s not really in our budget, but what’s a girl to do?
I’ll tell you what I did – I thanked heavens the third thing was over and I have fully stopped opening any drawer or door.

Many of the following thoughts came from Stefanie Pettit’s 2018 article. I’ve just caught up with her…and added a few of my own.
1. Stephanie said, “I see people out there zip lining and mountain climbing, and here I am feeling good about myself because I got my leg through my underwear without losing my balance.”
If you are a person of a certain age, I expect you’ll be laughing at that opening sentence, or at least agreeing. I have the most risk for falls just trying to get one leg into underwear or pants in the morning.
2. Some of my friends, like my husband, exercise every day. Meanwhile, I am watching a show I don’t like because the remote fell on the floor.
This is true only on the off chance I actually get the remote. My hubby is usually “in charge” of this device. Occasionally, well, okay, often, he falls asleep with a death grip on the thing. I’ve watched more soccer games and weird animal shows that I care to remember – all because if I try to gently extricate the remote from his grip, he wakes up and says “Wha? I was watching that!”
3. I don’t mean to interrupt people, but I just randomly remember things and get really excited.
This one happens all the time, especially with those of us having hearing impairments. Conversations with people zip and zoom along, people talk over one another, subjects changing quickly. Those of us who don’t hear so well are often a beat or two behind.
So the conversational topic may have moved from foods we like to results of the recent election, when in the midst of someone’s animated oratory about political ethics, one lone voice pipes in: “I think mashed potatoes with cheese are better than French fries.”
That’s followed by a stunned or awkward moment of silence. I’ve experienced that one myself.
Now unless someone has dementia or other ailment, this is that aging-interrupting-time-lag thing. Normal, and understood by boomers everywhere.
4. You know you’re getting old when you talk about every other driver on the road for their lack of driving skill or etiquette – or both.
Surely you have followed someone on the freeway with a turn signal blinking mile after mile. People who speed around in parking lots, who pull out in front of you, who cut you off – these are all folks we love to vetch about!
5. Eating and drinking after hours used to be “last call”.
Now it’s “hmmm…I can’t drink this water, it’s after 8 p.m.” Or “uh-oh, I can’t have onions past 7 p.m.” It’s all about trying to get a full nights’ sleep with minimal trips to the bathroom or indigestion.
Getting older is no easy feat, that’s for sure. And by the way, mashed potatoes with cheese are the best!