I’m starting to think that when I turned 60, my body decided I hadn’t been that good to it through the years so it would rebel. It’s not that I think I’m falling apart, and maybe I’m blaming normal aches and pains on a number, but things aren’t like they used to be. And I’m not even talking about what 90% of you think I’m talking about. Â Power washing the deck last week was like opening a big can of worms. The deck was clean and ready to seal, but the old paint job on the railing has seen better days and, of course, the loose paint was smathered by the power-stream of water. So that means painting the railing and trim. I thought it might be a three hour job, but I spent two or three hours yesterday priming the bare spots. After running 6.63 miles this morning (hooray, I got past four miles after taking a couple of weeks off for an “illness” and my sore hip didn’t stop me) I went out to the cottage and painted from 11:30 until 4:15 and only got a third of it done. After all that, every muscle in my body aches. I wonder if I would feel the same if I were 45?
Friday night was entertaining as usual. Becky stopped by as she often does and Bill and Nancy came by for the free entertainment. When they came in, Becky was talking about how good an idea it would be to rent a husband for a while. She has no intention of getting married, and she wouldn’t want to take the guy away from his wife, but it might be nice to have someone every once in a while with no strings attached. We asked her what her requirements were and she said he needed to be young (apparently I don’t qualify), good looking (again I’m out of the running), a good listener (I pretend well but don’t always remember what Jean says), and had to smell good (no comment). We asked about any other attributes she was looking for but she declined to list them. It sounded to me like the “rental activities” that happen on Division Street in Grand Rapids but she insists it’s different.
I wasn’t the best host in the world, although I did mute the television so the noise wouldn’t drown out the girls’ conversation. When Bill and Nancy came in they brought a bottle of cherry wine from Traverse City. Nancy offered Bill a glass and he declined. I got myself a glass of wine a couple of hours later and Jean asked Bill if he wanted something. Apparently he did, but it wasn’t a glass of cherry wine. A bottle of Just Jack’s Kolsch hit the spot. I should have picked up on that, but didn’t. I guess I get mesmerized by the direction the conversation goes sometimes.
I need to get 10 rounds of golf in before the member-guest tournament so I’m looking for volunteers to be the official scorekeeper. Jean wanted me to play nine holes with her on Friday. She’s been working more hours and she penciled me in when the wind was blowing 30 m.p.h. and tree limbs were dropping like flies. I told her “heck no” so I’m sure my husband of the year scores have dropped farther into negative territory. I’m not worried. In 18 years I haven’t placed on the podium, so there’s nowhere to go but up.
Just (Sore And Can’t Afford a Massage ‘Til A House Sells) Jack