Young Geezer's Second Income

Young Geezer emailed me from his office today, saying his second source of income has been cut off. He even used an exclamation point. I didn't know he even had a second source of income—should I be worried?

When I inquired, he said, "They took the stamp machine out of the copy room. It was a pretty good source of extra cash -- two 42 cent stamps for 75 cents -- 9 cents profit per purchase. Whoo-hoo!"

We had been getting rich, 9 cents at a time, and I didn't even know it. But he had even bigger plans:

He said, "I was going to make a 'How To Become A Millionaire -- In Your Spare Time' infomercial, detailing how to find and exploit small stamp machines like ours."

Poor guy. Perhaps I'll place a cool cloth on his fevered brow and give him some iced tea when he gets home.

Housework Can Be Really Bad for You

My mom used to make us kids do our housework chores before we were allowed to leave the house each day. She was no dummy; she knew she wasn't likely to see much of us once we escaped. I now know that was good common sense on her part, but at the time it felt like punishment. Housework still feels like punishment to me, and recent news items aren't doing much to change my mind.

For instance, a woman in Maine recently came face-to-face with a the head of a snake while pulling wet clothes out of her washing machine. As a kid, I might have thought that was cool. But she was a grown-up, and the head was attached to a live 8' python. The news story didn't say if she screamed, fainted, or just gave up taking baths and doing laundry. See? this is what I'm talking about. Housework can be really bad for you.


A Wisconsin woman who cleans vacant apartments for a living found a stereo speaker in one of the apartments. She gave it to her son-in-law after her boss told her to keep it. Son-in-Law heard a rattle inside the speaker, pried it open--and boom! Thousands of dollars popped out (better than an 8' python, right?) It turned out to be money from a bank robbery a couple of years earlier. I can imagine that, just for a split second, they thought about all the wonderful things they could do with the money (stop cleaning vacant apartments, for one.) It must have been heartbreaking to give up those brief dreams and turn it in. But they did. See? you can get your heart broken doing housework!


And now... The python is in a shelter, the money is back in the bank, and the bank robber is in jail. Even if housework isn't bad for you (and you won't convince me of that), it might be a good idea to give it up before the excitement causes a heart attack.

My Brain is getting AARPed

When I got that first AARP magazine (it's eerie--I can't remember my own birthday sometimes, but AARP knows when it is!), I threw it away and refused to join an organization of old people. I gave in about five years later, when I started feeling like AARP material. Disturbingly enough, I actually enjoy the magazine.

I didn't realize that reading about my fellow AARPians, who actually spend years planning their beautiful retirements, would put my brain on the AARP track. I now think about walk-in bathtubs, MediCare, and my hope that I'll be able to drive until I die (preferably not while engaging in said activity.) These things had never occurred to me before. Thanks, AARP.

I drive low-maintenance-high-gas-mileage Japanese car, and have for years (many of those years in this same car!) I used to think that one day I might have a Mercedes, but to my dismay, even my dreams are changing. I used to look at Mercedes drivers with a tinge of envy, but now that I have the AARP mindset, I look at them with a tinge of pity.

"You poor people," I think, "Did you even think about your retirement when you decided to spend all that extra money for a status car? You could be driving a low-maintenance-high-gas-mileage Japanese car and putting the difference away for the future!" Only recently has it begun to dawn on me that maybe the the future they saved and planned for included a Mercedes. If you do it the AARP way, it seems, such a thing is possible.

Rats! If only I'd started reading the magazine five years sooner!

I Remembered the Baby, Didn't I?

Baby Girl's mother is a good-natured, patient woman. This is a good thing. She needs a lot of patience--not to deal with Baby Girl, but to deal with me and my efforts to be a dependable, grandmotherly person.

I know I'm not supposed to give Baby Girl "kiki" (candy), so I don't. But she and I each have a sweet tooth, so I'm ever in search for "kiki" replacements. Her enthusiastic response to Costco's latest dried fruit treats ("Just fruit, no preservatives!") felt like a great victory. We ate them with gusto at the free concert we attended today to give Baby Mom a chance to pack for a camping trip. After the concert, we played with the crayons, markers, puzzles, books, and princess dress-up clothes I keep at my house for her. She was well and truly tired after our adventures.

When I returned Baby Girl to her mother, she was glassy-eyed and ready for her nap. Another victory! Her mother would get a couple more precious hours without coloring, puzzles, and demands for kiki. Baby Girl Mom retrieved the car seat and the diaper bag from my car. We chatted, she retrieved Baby Girl as she made a run for the neighbor's house, we chatted some more, then she put the car seat into her car. Much "bye-bye," hugging, "see you tomorrow," and waving ensued.

As I pulled into a supermarket parking lot fifteen minutes later, Baby Girl Mom called. She was laughing. "You remember that I pulled the diaper bag out of your car?" (She knows my Boomer brain is becoming more decrepit each day. I assured her I did, wondering if this was a test.) "Well," she continued, "it seems I didn't remove it from behind your car. It now has a perfect tire track right down the middle of it!" (Oh, good. It isn't a test. I'll still be allowed to take Baby Girl without a chaperone.) "You didn't manage to crush the box of baby wipes, though." I offered to come back and have another go at it, but for some reason, she declined. Whew! I still looked good (I think).

When I opened my trunk after shopping, I blinked a couple of times, trying to grasp the meaning of the accordioned pink and purple nylon thingie in the middle of it. (If you don't use an umbrella stroller every day, your brain might have trouble deciphering what it is. Mine did, anyway.) Ooops. So much for looking good!

One embarrassing oversight doesn't erase two really good victories, does it? I hope not. I'll find out from Baby Girl Mom when I return the stroller. I'm sure she'll understand that no chaperone is required--yet!

Angels, Blue and Otherwise

Seafair is an event that happens every year in the Seattle area, amidst frenzied TV promotion and huge traffic interruptions on the bridges that thread the population together over Lake Washington. It began over 50 years ago with a few wealthy people racing speedboats powered by gigantic airplane engines at the south end of the lake. Now it's totally commercial, with hydroplanes owned by sponsors like Oberto Sausage and Budweiser (which, I'm told, when ingested together constitute the breakfast of true champions.)

I've lived here 19 years and have never been to Seafair. Friday was a the "free day" at the event--which seemed tantamount to an exclusive invitation for us unemployed folks. I decided to check out the one event that appeals to me: the performance of the Blue Angels.

I don't know what it is about fighter planes screaming out of the sky, climbing, falling, turning, and flying with wingtips 18" apart that I find so thrilling. Part of it is just that I love airplanes and flying. Especially flights by military pilots. Many years ago I was a flight attendant on a charter airline that flew worldwide. All our pilots were former military, and those guys could fly into and out of anything. They could take off and land in weather and at airports that made scheduled airlines tremble. They were gods in the air. On the ground, not so much. (But that's another story.) Although I tend to hate crowds, buses, and too much sun, I decided it was worth whatever I had to do to see the Blue Angels perform directly over my head.

I rode the bus two hours each way (no parking nearby--it's a neighborhood, not an amusement park), and walked two miles to the lake's edge (because the highly-touted shuttle bus turned out to be non-existent.) I stumbled along, clutching my heavy lunch and picnic blanket in my non-muscular arms. Despite my current status as a pasty couch potato, I sat in the sun until I was burned enough to stay warm in the Arctic without a jacket. Let it be said that Young Geezer (who has been rebuffed for suggesting activities that weren't a fraction as rigorous as this) was at work, and would have laughed hysterically if anyone had tried to tell him where his sedentary wife was and what she was doing.

Yeah, it was grueling. I was stiff and I couldn't straighten my arms the whole next day. But the sky was blue, the breeze perfect, and the performance was magnificent. I would do it again in a heartbeat to feel that thrill. Maybe I would wear different shoes and carry less stuff. Maybe I would use more sunscreen. But I would definitely do it.

I'll also ride the bus again, soon. I experienced something I don't experience in my car: people. I saw young men in gangsta garb help a blind woman--without being asked. I chatted with people from different parts of the world whose paths I would never cross in a usual day. I asked a couple of preteen boys to give up their seats for two elderly men who boarded in the International District. They fell all over themselves to give up their seats. They just hadn't thought of it themselves, that's all. I've heard it said that there are angels all around us. It sure seemed true that day.

What an amazing world. I think I need to consider getting those clunky walking shoes I've been avoiding, and getting out more. Maybe it's even time to buy a bus pass.

(I apologize in advance to everyone who gets stuck behind my slow-moving self on the bus steps, or when I ask the bus driver questions. Hey, I might not be bus savvy--but I can tell you some great stories about former military pilots, if you're interested!)