This summer, as I said elsewhere, was hot in Prince Edward Island. Bernie had had his hands on a pair of his shorts several times as he was packing, but he didn’t put them in his suitcase. No problem, I said. The local co-op has been enlarged and now have clothes. I’d pick up a pair for him.
I went into the coop and saw a short rack of random clothes. No, that can’t be it. They must have a new room. I pushed by someone and went into a new hallway. I stopped abruptly. A restroom, a storage closet and confusion. I turned and came out. I went to the man who was watching me and asked for the clothes. He pointed to the rack I’d already seen. Thank you, I said.
I knew there would be nothing for Bernie: they were all tight, shiny shorts with white slashes on them. A few generations past my husband’s taste.
No problem, I said to Bernie once I was home. There’s the second-hand store. The next day we braved the second-hand place. Of course it wasn’t called second-hand. Now I can’t remember the name but probably something like: “For You! Pre-Selected Clothes!” Anyway it was a lot of clothes, several rooms full. Who needs new?
I asked for help as I couldn’t make any sense out of the racks and the owner led us to the men’s shorts. Bernie pulled out a pair of beautiful pale grey shorts. Real shorts, old-fashioned shorts. And– there was the original price tag on it! Never been worn! He needed a belt too and we, I was as happy as a clam- one of those the diggers don’t get.
Once home he tried them on and they fit perfectly and looked great.
I’m still amazed at our luck.



Last week I kept thinking: I want some Estee Lauder foundation with sun block. But I didn’t want to go to Macy’s in Waterford to get it.
It kept recurring. Finally I picked up the phone and called the beautician who’d left a message on my phone. In five minutes it was all settled, both of us pleased and exchanging heartfelt good byes. She’d send me what I wanted.
How simple! I didn’t need to telegraph or call up Alexander Graham Bell and ask him how my telephone worked. I didn’t need to fill out reams of forms and deal with a crabby person behind an iron grille who’d leave for lunch in the middle of our negotiations.
I can sit here and the UPS man will deliver a package of delights on my doorstep. It’s Estee Lauder free gift time. Whoopee!

I’m Better…

now. I’ve been a little down recently, but yesterday I saw a new counselor and everything is much better. I’d been waking depressed (if that isn’t a bummer) so she recommended having a piece of nature by my bed to see when I awoke.
Great idea! So I went out and picked one of my pink dahlias. There it was when I woke up. So no depression to fight all day. And, as usual, as usual with a depression, everything else is fine. It’s amazing how that works. The depression was activated by my circumstances, having having eight adults and two children around and then watching them go. And the weather went downhill, too. Or is that my selective memory?
It’s odd how depression works. When it lands on you, your vision becomes very narrow: all you can see are things that make you depressed. Using affirmations for your stupid brain doesn’t occur to you.
I call the brain stupid because it selectively believes dumb things,such as depressing thoughts (life must be hell because I think it) and doesn’t scramble around looking for more positive thoughts: I’m wonderful no matter if everyone leaves me! (The last said in a loud voice.)

Anyway, I’m not letting the weather get me…no wait, it’s been beautiful. Who cares about that humidity?
Now I have to leave to go and do 10 minutes or more on the treadmill. Too hot for a walk. Should I water my flowers? It will rain, right? But then, if I water, it will be sure to rain. There’s a name for that thinking. Do you know it?