I have been given the constructive criticism, by my near and dear, that I move a little too quickly at times. Occasionally, this has resulted in mishaps, accidents and/or near disasters.
Case in point: one day I was going to leave to go shopping and happily put on my new shoes. It was summertime and these were the rubber, open-toed, one-strap-over-the-top-of-the foot kind of shoes. Mind you, I had not worn this particular type of footwear in the past and didn’t take time to “break them in.” I mean, seriously, I’ve been wearing shoes nearly my whole life and never had a problem.
I slipped into my new shoes, picked up my purse and my assortment of reusable totes, and headed out the back door to the garage. My typical stride is fairly rapid, so again, I gave no thought to any changes based on new shoes. All was well for the first twenty steps. Then, my right foot and the new shoe parted ways. The foot went sideways and the shoe slipped backward and I did a swan dive onto the side walk. Momentum carried my body forward and my right hand slid about three feet on the edge of the sidewalk.
Cuts on the hand are devilishly difficult to bandage. It didn’t help that I thought I was bleeding to death. But my hubby cleaned me up, wrapped my hand and all was well. I put on my “old” shoes, picked up all my various totes and continued on my day. On the way to the garage, by the way, the new shoes were deposited unceremoniously in the garbage can.
I confess, speed may have been part of that calamity, but I fully hold those shoes responsible.
Another incident occurred in our woods. This was many years ago, and we were walking with our pre-teen son. I noticed one of the many grapevines growing there because it was hanging down just over the edge of a small ravine. Perfect placement for a swing!
Without discussion, I jogged toward it and leaped to grab hold and propel myself out over the hillside. Oh, what joys of youth flooded my mind!
I went quickly enough that I just barely heard my husband say, “That might not be a good idea.” It was as he spoke that last word that the grapevine snapped and I plummeted to the hillside on my bottom.
The breath was knocked from me, and I heard nothing from above. I finally was able to turn around to see both the males in my life doubled over in laughter.
It was my last monkey-vine ride.
Last week, I bought root beer floats on the way home. This is no accident, it was a thoughtful gesture on my part. I got out of the car, placed the two floats on the car roof, and put my purse over my shoulder.
I opened the back seat door and pulled out the two bags of groceries and shut the door. That movement was apparently stunning enough to MOVE the floats off the car and into the air. Well, one went into the air, splattering me on the head and shoulders. The other slid down, pouring root beer and ice cream down the side of the car.
Perhaps speed isn’t the issue at all, but it’s thinking first? Nah, it must be the shoes. And the vine. And the floats. They are the problem!

One of the magazines I read regularly had an article this week that blew my mind – and not in a good way! Usually I find advice or “life hacks” that are interesting and helpful. This week was not the case!
In a one-page piece on how to use Sundays to “reset,” it basically had you doing a week’s worth of chores on Sunday. First of all, Sunday is a day – at least in our house – that, barring emergencies, is reserved for WFF. That’s not World Fighting Federation, that’s for worship, family, and fun. So using that day for chores was mind-blowing for me.
It got better (or worse, depending on how you look at it). The chores and suggestions were as follows:
1. Change your sheets on Sunday and don’t make the bed until the evening. This allows the mattress to air out. First of all, whenever you change your sheets, the mattress can air out while you wash and dry them. And secondly, waiting until you’re dog-tired to put sheets on the bed (especially if your bed is large), is dumb.
2. Grocery shop with an “electronic cart.” Add a grocery list app to your phone, then when you run out of things during the week, add it to your phone app. Then, go shopping on Sunday. The article says “it’s the most popular day to shop.” It is. It’s also the most crowded. This is dumb, too.
3. Get rid of “email clutter” by devoting an hour to reading and sorting email. On Sunday. Oh, they also suggested creating a SECOND email for special things. This is way dumb.
4. Prep all the ingredients for your meals for the rest of the week on Sunday. I can’t even imagine. I’m speechless. Just don’t do this.
5. Speed through laundry by doing it all on Sunday and then putting your “five outfits” for the week on hangers and leaving the rest in the tub. Clean. So during the week, you put your dirty clothes, where? This is the dumbest of all.
Instead of spending your Sunday changing your sheets, doing your laundry, shopping, preparing food for five days, and selecting outfits for the week that you won’t want to wear, I have a better list.
This Sunday, start by worshipping at the place of your choice. Then, come home and have a nice meal. Have a cookout. Invite friends and family over for games. Walk your dog. Sit in your garden or on your porch. Read a book. In the evening, go to bed feeling happy and ready for your week.
As for those other things, try this:
1. When you wash your sheets, wait until they are washed and dried to make your bed. But do it then, so it’s done. Do it any day you like.
2. Tape a paper to the fridge, or keep a notebook in the kitchen. Make a paper and pencil list of things you need and shop whenever you want.
3. Check your mail a few minutes every day. Also, NEVER create a second place you have to check things.
4. Plan your meals for the week and shop for everything you need for them once a week. But prep them the day you’re eating. If you don’t think you have time, use a crock pot.
5. I don’t know what I will want to wear, or need to wear, five days from now. Fold and hang your laundry – all of it – when you do it. Then it’s all ready when you need it.
These “life hacks” will save you a lot of stress and make your Sundays ever-so-restful.

The person in the red and white pick-up truck didn’t seem to care that I was driving in the lane and had the right of way. It was important that he, or she, got into traffic. So he, or she, pulled into my lane, causing me to swerve into the oncoming lane to avoid a collision. Thankfully, there was no oncoming traffic, so no one was hurt. And clearly, the truck’s driver had more important things to do than follow driving laws or be concerned with others on the road. But wait. Copernicus called and left him (or her) a message.
Last week, I went to an event with two friends. On our way home, a car was parked on the side of the two-lane highway, with flashers on. My friend was driving and she pulled a little to the left, as per protocol. The car behind us chose to pass us (and the disabled car) completely, revving up to about 75 miles per hour and nearly sideswiping her. Because, I assume, it didn’t matter if there was a person outside the disabled car, or that three people inside our car were traumatized. But wait. Copernicus called and left him (or her) a message.
I’ve recently noticed a lot of drivers pulling out in front of me. I typically try to give the benefit of the doubt in my mind, like “oh, maybe he got called to an emergency,” or “his wife’s having a baby,” or “he has IBS.” But this has been happening so often and with so many different people that it’s getting more difficult to find plausible excuses for the ill-mannered (not to mention dangerous) driving behavior. It’s a good thing I typically drive about 5 mph lower than the speed limit, otherwise, I would have clobbered some of these fools.
This happened three times today on a routine trip to town to get dish soap. One guy pulled out so close I had to brake or I would have hit him. Behind me were how many cars? Oh, NONE. So he just couldn’t wait three more seconds to pull into traffic. But wait. Copernicus called and left him a message, too.
The more unnerving behavior is folks who turn across your lane in front of you. I’m sure they think they have plenty of time, but it’s pretty scary when you’re traveling the speed limit of 50 or 55 mph and someone pulls into your lane. Very often, they sort of cruise through, too, instead of putting the pedal to the floor. So they are not only putting your life at risk, but their own, and trusting that – unlike them – you are not on your phone, but paying attention to the road, so you can safely avoid a crash. Copernicus called them, too and left a message.
Our little town has a wonderful town square with a round-a-bout. A few years ago, very intelligent people removed the traffic lights on each corner of the square. Instead, they mounted signs for drivers with blinking yellow lights that say “watch for pedestrians; they have the right-of-way.” They later added signs for pedestrians that say “look both ways for traffic!” Those latter signs are a good thing, because many times a day, people in cars zip around that traffic circle like it’s the Daytona 500. You can stand on the corner holding a stroller, an elder’s walker, and/or several bags of groceries and if you watch carefully you’ll see drivers zoom by, looking neither left or right. But by golly, they are reaching their destination with alacrity! But wait. Copernicus called, and left them messages, too.
The message? It was the same for each of them:
You’re not the center of the universe.

As I get older, I notice that things bother me that didn’t use to faze me at all. Maybe I just didn’t have time when I was a working wife and mother. Now that I’m retired, I find myself flummoxed by things like paying for parking on an app on your phone.
How does the app know you’re there? And why does it take 437 clicks to tell it you’re leaving (assuming you can figure them all out before the police arrive to tow your car). What happened to meters? They were convenient and easy and all you had to do was scrounge under your car seat for change.
But more than flummoxed, I get downright cranky about kitchen trash bags. These products state – right on the box – that they “grip the can.” Grip the can, they do not. You put them on the can and they stay there at first. But if you toss anything with any significant weight – like, say, a tissue – into the bag, then it collapses in on itself.
This is annoying. Why can’t it grip the bag? Oh, wait, I’m supposed to buy those giant rubber band things to put around it. Which work very well. In fact, they work so well, you can’t pry the darned things off. You have to cut them off, risking a snap on your hand or arm.
And it starts to get expensive.
Here’s another thing that bothers me as I’m older. Bathroom doors in restaurants that weigh about the same as a young killer whale. And that open inward. Unless you work out with weights, you have to pray someone wants to come in so you can get out.
As I’m aging, I am less appreciative of my annual medical checkups. Now they are called “Medicare wellness checks.” Let me digress to say that for most of us elder, our teeth, ears, and eyes give us the most trouble. These are the three areas of “wellness” that Medicare doesn’t cover. So I’m kind of grouchy going into my annual checkup.
This year in addition to remembering the three irrelevant words (which I easily did, even though I often have trouble remembering what I did yesterday), we had to draw a clock. I’m thinking that in another decade, they will have to come up with a different test. A “traditional” clock isn’t what anyone under the age of 60 has ever really learned to read.
My health professional asked me to draw 9:15 and was not amused when I asked, “A.M. or P.M.?”
Then she made me stand up and sit down repetitively for 30 seconds. Thirty seconds is a long time for arthritic knees, but I did it. I have no idea what that told them, other than my knees make very funny sounds after about the third or fourth stretch.
But at last she said, “So you had your blood work two days ago?” I blinked at her owlishly. Was this some of kind of memory trick? “No,” I said. “I didn’t have blood work.” “Well, this says you did,” she said, as though I was already in full-blown dementia. Then she did a double-take and said, “Oh, that was 2023. I guess we forgot to order it.”
So who really needed the Medicare wellness check? Maybe the people who make garbage bags need one, too!