My blog entries were quite some time ago. Those gremlins of age hit at the wrong time. I've beaten ill health, but aspects still remain with different names: memory loss and arthritis. Two worst ailments that refuse to disappear.
Musings while driving today:
The accident I had last summer day. Every time I turn the corner of those two streets I drive several times a week, I remember clearly what happened, although the facts were mixed like a martini at the time of the impact. I'm positive I turned left behind a car before the light changed. What happened was a small Ford truck slammed into my right fender, both of us turning away from a more serious bender. He didn't want to press charges, the cop said, as I fumbled in the glove compartment for identification. I knew not to say, It's not my fault, Sorry, I didn't see him, or I did not run a red light. Ford driver's comment was She ran the red light. In the process of police interrogation my blood pressure hit the top, my innards squeezed and churned, and my voice was a bit shaky. Of course my gray hair and the handicapped card on the dash didn't help me look and act younger. However, I manage to review the scene every time I reach that particular crossroad, and every time I knew, just knew that guy ran into me.
Now my hair has silver stands that my adult children accept. I colored my hair from age 40 til 80, when I realized I wasn't going to see many people I wanted to think I was ten years younger. And the walking cane I now use has overshadowed my hair color. Do you know, ladies and gentlemen, that owning a cane and carrying (on your arm) opens more doors and achieves more kind remarks (Good morning, Well, hello, You need a bit of help) than if I leave my cane in the car. I love to know there are thoughtful souls, young folks as well, who exist in my small world.
Driving allows me to rewrite one of two stories I paid to have criticized. Because they have merit, I have to rewrite certain paragraphs the critics suggest. One story is based on a real incident of a friend of the family. This meant changing names and towns, and anything my friend would attach to her own experience. The second one is based on some poor wives who have husbands who demand too much. This main character decides one evening to find a way to get rid of this non-romantic buzzard she married twenty years ago. My critic suggested a scene to be transferred to the opening of the story. If you have similar problems, ladies, let me know. I need more fire.
Oops, this is enough for one entry.