Tieing Up Loose Ends

I had a hard time coming up with a good blog topic this week, but my dad hinted that he was getting tired of seeing his mugshot atop here with the "The Cost of Forgetting" blog I did last week. So I thought I might tie up some loose ends then.

First, from Fun With Bill where I complained about the post office taking a bite out of the envelope that contained our credit card payment for the month. Our credit card company claimed they still received the payment, though our bank never showed the check cashed.

If I was hoping it would stay that way, the words of my blogging buddy Vicki were prophetic. "Think positively. Maybe Citibank will never cash the first check but they'll still give you the extra credit. Nope. Not gonna happen." True. The next month our credit card statement reversed that payment with the note "Return check - mutilated." We were not fined nor penalized, however.

From Hep Cat Steppin’ Out, again Vicki’s advice of bringing Excedrin and earplugs to my nephew’s rock band performance proved to be right on (I think she should run an advice column instead of a blog). But her advice came too late. I didn’t wear earplugs and paid a heavy price.

Holy cow! Martians could have been establishing a beachhead right outside the door to our brewpub in a combination of War of the Worlds AND Independence Day and we would have been oblivious to it inside.

Actually, maybe my nephew’s band warded off extraterrestrials had they picked that night to invade our planet . . .

"Gorg! Sensors are picking up extremely violent sound waves. They’re at a decibel level unheard of in previous civilizations we have conquered."

"Are our shields up?"

"Yes, but the sound waves are overpowering our shields and jamming our navigational equipment."

"Retreat then to Alpha Centauri."

Since that concert we attended a little over a month ago, my nephew’s band has broken up and re-formed again. If we go to see his new band perform, we’ll know to bring earplugs.

Today being Valentine’s Day marks an anniversary of sorts for my wife Wendy and me. It was 27 years ago today that we became officially engaged to be married. A few short months afterwards, we officially made it for better or worse. Back in the early years, if I asked Wendy if she would still take care of me when I was old and decrepit, she answered in the affirmative.

When I remind her of that promise now after she has started seeing some potential infirmities, like forgetfulness, she responds, "I lied."

I’m having chilling visions now of what it might be like to be married and 70, visions possibly inspired by watching HAL in the movie "2001, A Space Odyssey" this past weekend.

"Wendy, can you get me my walker and help me get upstairs and undressed?"

"I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that."