There's a Fortune Waiting

No question, there's a Pot of Gold waiting for whoever follows through on this, and you're welcome to be the one.
     Internet shopping came along just in time for my Old Age, and since I moved on from canes (see this blog three years ago) I've spent hours online researching rollators.   
     Some vendors call them walkers -- but I think of those as the aluminum things the Old Ladies danced with in The Producers.  I prefer the word rollator, which I'll bet was a made-up trademark that wasn't properly protected, so it lost the capital letter and some manufacturer lost the right to exclusive use.
    My first one (see this blog three years ago) was a full-size affair that kept bumping into door frames and scratching furniture.  So  it's been limited to carrying in groceries.
   Then I spent a few Internet hours searching for the lightest three-wheeler (no seat).  Found one that weights eight pounds, no more than a newborn baby, and I can handle it folded up in the car.
And for around the house all day -- hang on,  we'll get to the Fortune part -- I found a pediatric rollator just right for someone who is no longer five feet tall.  At first the concept was pathetic, but then I realized that for a little kid who couldn't walk without it, this one would represent freedom, and I felt better about the whole thing.  It's additionally useful for taking-it-from-here and carrying-it-there, which really constitutes the larger part of housekeeping.
     So anyway, here's what could yield you, as Dr. Johnson wrote, riches beyond the fondest dreams of avarice.  Okay --  all those rollator ads list exactly the same set of advantages: 
*padded seat
*removable basket
*brakes
* etc.
But --  here's a closeup of my outfitted little companion:
  *the grabber tucks nicely in the back, because anyone who needs a rollator can't really bend down to pick things up
  *the flashlight is for times when one forgets to leave the lights on in the next room and is afraid of tripping
  *the timer reminds one that those eggs will be hard-boiled in twenty minutes (see blog two years ago).
     I'm not entirely joking. Some manufacturer could sweep the market with  a deluxe fully-equipped rollator.  All that's lacking is a niche for the smartphone. 
     You're welcome to the idea -- now somebody, please do something about this.

 

Incongruity

  Hip a bit touchy this morning but I know how to make it happy.  Pills first, then a nice balanced breakfast to get them going -- egg salad sandwich, strong tea, tangerine.
     Just about empty the hot water heater filling my deep Soaking Tub, take off the necklace with the panic button and tuck it on the bath tray next to the book rack.  I'd like to send you a picture of that well-equipped bath tray, which also holds some zippy reading glasses from the Dollar Store, but this morning, for some reason, the computer didn't want to recognize the digital camera. 
     Anyhow, add on the portable phone -- don't want to miss out if I'm selected to receive a free weekend in the Bahamas -- and a little cup full of jelly beans from that big birthday-present jar.
     Then I mentally thank Norm for insisting, years ago, that we put in grab bars when we re-did this bathroom.  And I settle down, warm, well-fed and feeling no pain, nibbling the first jelly bean, to continue re-reading
                                       Primo Levi's
                         Survival in Auschwitz

Well, the celebration of this monumental birthday has lasted seven weeks now, and today's lunch with new old friends about winds it up.  Michelle and Barak got in just under the wire -- they dropped this in the mail, I assume, last minute before they left for Cuba.

It's nice to see that they pay regular postage.  Reminds me of President Truman, except that old Harry used to pull a 3-cent stamp out of his wallet and lick it.  Time marches on, and the Obamas evidently own a Pitney Bowes meter.

Tell It Like It Is

You will remember I commented, a few weeks ago, that four well-wishers who wanted to send a 90th birthday card all ended up with the same one -- I was proud to speculate that we nonegenarians are so rare it's worth putting only one card on the market. That commercial card, the one with the candles, spoke admiringly of 90 years of memories, and  was probably written by someone who doesn't know much about old folks, because lately I can't remember a thing.

But wait--there's more! 
The mail person has brought a hand-made greeting from Jeannie.
This card, the one with the balloons, has a different take on the achievement. "Welcome to the 90s club" she says " Except for parts wearing out, it is not so bad..."
                                          Damn straight
                                                               as the kids used to say in the '60s.

Now It'll Never Happen

 When Avi was little, he wanted us to get a dog -- and he was quite specific -- a spotty dog.  We said when he was grown up and had a house of his own, he could get a spotty dog, and with wisdom beyond his years he protested "But maybe then I won't want one."
Same thing happened with me.  How much I longed to ride -- just once -- in a rumble seat.  They said that would have to wait until I was a little older.  And of course by the time I was a little older, there weren't any rumble seats.  Do the grandchildren even know what a rumble seat was? 
It's no fair -- these kids knew a vintage-car collector, and they got to sit in a rumble seat. 
I also remember the way suitcases were attached to running boards--not much security there.  On a cross-continental trip my aunt parked outside a restaurant and had her luggage stolen.  That would have been around 1929.
 So do the kids even know what a running board is?  They know infants need approved carriers, and toddlers have special seats -- not in the front --  and we're not starting till you've all fastened seat belts.  But what I remember -- it would have been during The Depression -- is a bunch of us piling on to the running boards and grabbing hold of window frames while the camp truck lurched down dirt roads so we could go pick sweet corn for lunch.  And we survived just fine.