Let me begin by stating, very clearly, that delivery personnel have been god-sends to me during the pandemic. I have appreciated each and every one of them and have relied on their services to keep my household running smoothly.

               That said, I did have a couple of encounters that left me a little…confused. Both of them, coincidentally, began in August.  Let’s start with the catalogue that came then. It was from a company I have used before, and I happily perused its pages to find holiday gifts and a couple of items for my kitchen. I carefully tallied my purchases, filled out the order form, wrote a check and mailed it all off.

               About a week later, I received their “thank you for your order” email. It said I would get a notice when my order shipped. Another week passed and I received an email that said, “How did you like your order?”  I hadn’t been notified that it had shipped, nor had I received my order, so I quickly wrote back, explaining my situation. To this, I was sent a form letter saying I’d receive a response within 2 business days.

               Six days later, I received a strange email from the company. It was written by someone with a title and appeared to be on letterhead, but the grammar was a tad bit “off.” Basically, it said they had looked up my order and I was $13 short of the total, which is why it had not been shipped. Since I had not kept a copy of my order form (dumb!), I wrote a check for $13, included a copy of her email, and sent off the check.

               The NEXT day, my package arrived. Everything was in it. I was a little puzzled. But I unpacked the box and went about my business. Last week, I received my check for $13 back in the mail, with a form letter saying I had overpaid. Hmmm.

               Also in August, I submitted a little card from the middle of a magazine to start a subscription. I was delighted to receive the next week’s issue almost immediately. I also got an issue the week after that, along with an invoice for the subscription. I quickly wrote a check and mailed that off.

               Then my magazine didn’t arrive. Nor did it come throughout September. I didn’t receive any in October, so I called the company. I chatted with a nice lady (Nancy) who told me they didn’t get my check until September. That’s true. I told her I sent the check the day I received the invoice – September 1 – and that my bank tells me that it cleared September 23. So shouldn’t I have started receiving the magazine at least in October?

               Nancy told me, no. They sent the magazine twice, and since they didn’t have my payment, they stopped it. Now it would restart on December 7. Seriously?  I believe I actually said that to her, out loud. It would take three months to start getting it weekly? She said, yes, sorry, that was their system.

               Then I went out to get the mail that very day, and what do you think?  The newest issue of the magazine was there! November 4. Hmmm again.

               Maybe it’s just the pandemic. Or August. Who knows? But it is strange!

Most people either saw, or heard about, Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction during a halftime show at a Super Bowl. As it turns out, a lot of celebrities have had various body parts exposed or “fall out,” so those of us who have suffered this indignity totally understand the instant embarrassment. Let me digress here to say that I researched photos on the internet of famous wardrobe malfunctions (there are a lot of them!) and they are all on women. Don’t men ever have problems with zippers, buttons, or shirts?  Apparently not, at least not the famous men.

               At any rate, I have been thinking about these kinds of mishaps because of what happened to me today. I was in town for the downtown shops’ trick-or-treating event, sporting a large pumpkin costume complete with pumpkin hat. After the festivities, I returned home to quickly change clothes and run a few errands. I threw on a flannel shirt over my t-shirt, changed from leggings to jeans, and swapped my boots for sneakers. Then I headed out to do all the normal Saturday stuff.

               I went to the gas station and filled the car. I bopped into the grocery for a few last-minute, game-night treats. I got a coffee at the local coffee shop. I went to the bookstore to buy a book on tape. I sauntered into the hardware store to have a key made for a friend. Then I met that friend at a designated spot to give her the key.

When we were talking, a breeze stirred up and I tried to button my shirt. That’s when I noticed that I had my flannel shirt on inside out for the entire afternoon! Though my pal said she “didn’t notice,” I had to wonder how many others had!

This reminded me of the day, years ago, when I was dressing for work. I had an array of high-heeled shoes, all in the same style (comfortable), but different colors. I was dressing in the dark and easily found a black shell to wear with my deep purple business suit. I had these cool purple heels that matched, and I slipped them on and happily went to work. You know where this is going, don’t you?

               It was in my second meeting of the day when I looked down at my crossed legs and noticed the pretty purple heel on my right foot…and the non-matching brown heel on my left foot!  Geez.

               Years before that, my mother-in-law had a near mishap with her sunglasses. She had just purchased new ones with rose-tinted lenses before the family went on vacation. While there, the women went to a mall and ran into a woman at one of those kiosks selling jewelry cleaner. She cleaned my rings, my sister-in-law’s rings, and mom’s rings. They sparkled and each of us purchased a jar of the cleaner from her.

               On the way back to the condo, mom exclaimed, “oh dear, that jewelry cleaner discolored my ring!  It’s turning red!”  She was very upset and insisting that we turn around and go back to the mall. I kept looking at her ring, but saw nothing amiss. Finally, my sister-in-law looked at mom and said, “Mom, take off your sunglasses!”  Her rose-colored lenses had almost caused an inter-state incident!

               Wardrobe mishaps are funny – after the fact. Have you had one?

First, let me say that October 26 is  National Pumpkin Day. I thank the Lord every day (at least in the fall) for fruit and veggie farms, because there we can still see and purchase lovely huge pumpkins!  They are usually artfully displayed, as well, around hay bales, scarecrows and the like. It reminds me of the wonders of fall, and driving by or walking around these areas is a sensory delight!  The brilliant colors of the pumpkins and gourds and the leaves on the trees, the scents of apple cider in the barns, and the taste of pumpkin pie…all these just make me feel cozy and happy.

               Meanwhile, in the land of retail, it’s hard to find a pumpkin or gourd. There may be some in a discount bin, but the mainline stores are all about something that’s still 62 days away. That’s two months!  Yep, it’s all about Christmas. Now, normally that would be fine with me, as I love Christmas time. I typically know how many days until the big event months in advance. Even in March, I can tell you how many days until Santa arrives.

               But shopping-wise, this is annoying to me. I want to find pumpkins and apple cider and masks (MASKS!) in the stores in October. I do not feel the need to purchase candy canes, stockings, inflatable snowmen, or fake greenery. And let me digress to say that the stores have – for years, now – completely ignored a major holiday that happens in November. Try to find an autumn centerpiece, or a turkey sculpture, or some pilgrim candles for your Thanksgiving table. Ha! Too busy trying to sell tinsel, ornaments and snowflakes.

Seriously, marketing plans are just not in sync with the weather, the season, or my mood. It’s like sleeping in someone else’s bed. I know this feeling well, because I’ve done it. You’ve done it. We’ve all that experience!  Some are better than others, of course, but sleeping in a different bed almost always leaves you restless and a bit tired. Even if you think you slept pretty well, it’s just not the same.

Recently we celebrated our annual Friendsgiving. This is when we take  our dog and go with friends and their dogs to a cabin in the woods. We cook a big Thanksgiving dinner and have all the fun of the food and the laughter of good friends, but none of the stress of family. This year was especially poignant for us, as we will not be hosting or attending a large dinner filled with extended family. Hopefully, next year, but not 2020.

At any rate, we slept in a queen-sized bed with very comfortable sheets and pillows. The sheets were soft, but rustled like paper. It felt good, but sounded odd.  The mattress was firm and I should have slept well. I did, too, but awoke feeling “off,” and with a little twinge in my neck. Truth be told, I do that at home, too, but it was just different.

               I know our faithful pet, Forest, felt the same way. He missed his regular bed. He missed it so much that he fit his 100-pound, muscled frame into the Russell terrier’s little portable bed. He seemed comfortable enough, but I’m not sure he slept well!  Take a look at the photo and you decide.  Anyway, Christmas retail in October is okay. It’s a little like sleeping in someone else’s bed. It’s just not quite right.

My husband has, for the past four years, dedicated himself to a work-out routine in order to get fit (or in his case, more fit) and stay healthy. He gets up very early every day and completes various exercises, usually employing videos from YouTube. Often, I sleep through these videos, but during the covid months, I have also gotten up many a day to complete my own rigorous routine. My routine includes feeding the cats, brushing my teeth, starting a pot of coffee to brew, and posting an Instagram picture for my volunteer work.

               Okay, so it’s not rigorous, but I am faithful in completing the tasks. Meanwhile, my dearest one is out in the family room becoming even more gorgeous and using a number of techniques to achieve this purpose. As it turns out, I find that we have more in common than I thought.

               I mean, I never totally watched all the exercises that he did, but I can hear him and the video instructors from my perch. While the coffee brews and I surf the Instragram world, I get to sit in a big easy chair in the corner of our kitchen. This is how I heard some of the terms and it began to occur to me that he and I share many common interests.

               For example, I never hear “sit up,” “push up,” or “jumping jacks.” These dreaded things I know all too well from my school years as exercises I never want to repeat. But he doesn’t seem to do these.

               Last week, I heard the instructors telling him to do something at the bar club. Bar club? I’m all about that!  I meet my girlfriends once a month at a local emporium to enjoy half-priced drinks!  We’re not an official club, but it sounds right to me!

               Sunday night I cooked a big feast of mostly Mexican delights. It was tasty, but I totally understood Monday when I heard the television talking about “burpees.” Of course, it’s not the right season for the famous seeds, so I knew he must have tuned in to a specific video that would help relieve that bloated feeling from just one spoonful too many of refried beans.

               Then the next day, the video man was talking all about “dips.” I love dips. Bean dip, deviled ham dip, horseradish dip, guacamole…they’re all good. Technically, a cheese ball is a dip, right?  I could not believe that Matt’s fitness program included tips on such wonderful things!  The same day, I heard him do something called crunches. I can only assume these are the things that go with the dips – chips, crackers, pita pockets and the like. Yum!  Who knew that exercising could be so delightful?

               I heard the voice on the tape today talking about Romanian dead lifts and Bulgarian dead lifts. I am not really sure what these are, but they sounded an awful lot like the exchange students at my high school. I had a date with the guy from Bulgaria, and it pretty much was a dead lift.

Then I heard the voice say “Bulgarian split squat.”  That’s when I left my comfortable chair and walked into the family room to see what in the world they were doing with a banana split. Turns out – it had no ice cream, no banana, and no chocolate sauce. It had squat. So I guess that’s how they named it. And it did make me hungry, just thinking about a banana split.

               So I muscled up to the freezer, squatted down to the bottom shelf, and pulled out a Nestlé’s crunch bar.

               It’s gratifying to know we have so much in common in our retirement years!