Virtually the Same

Visiting Heidi's mom in Buffalo during an extreme heatwave has forced us to get creative about recreation. Yesterday, for example, we dusted off the old Wii console that she has hooked up to the TV in the basement rec room. 

"I think the last time I used this was when Richard and Annabelle were here for our wedding party," I said to Heidi, but after replacing a few batteries in the controllers, we found that the system still works fine. We were also reunited with the Miis we had created over a decade ago; Heidi's has dark hair, and mine is much chubbier than I would make her now. The early avatars of other family members were there, too: a younger Kyle, Mark with hair, and Heidi's dad, called "Chief," which looked eerily like him, and made us a little sad.

I got the thing working while Heidi was out with the dogs, and I clicked on bowling to test everything out. Of course, I wondered how the virtual version might compare, now that I've been bowling regularly. At first, I thought it was easier, and I picked up spares on my first three frames, but soon I found myself hooking the ball to the left, just as I do in real life. After a few adjustments, I got back on track, and my final score was 112, which just happens to be my average.

False Alarm

For some reason, my social media feed is full of information about aging gracefully and well. 🤔 As aged as the algorithm may think I am, though, I haven't declined to the point where I can't spot AI content designed to make me spend money buying equipment or subscribing to miraculous exercise routines. 

Even so, I do need to stay sharp because those robot hucksters are wily. For example, just the other day as I was scrolling, I paused to hear a fit, middle-aged man earnestly inform me that, as we age, losing balance is one of the biggest dangers. "Most people over the age of 50 can't put their socks on while standing up," he reported, shaking his head sadly. 

Oh my gosh! I thought. Can I put my socks on without sitting down? I pulled off my socks and jumped out of the chair to see. Oh, I could do it, all right, but in the process, I realized that usually?  

Nobody puts their socks on standing up. 

That's Why We're Friends

"Anyone who knows my middle name gets 5 points," Treat read from the game card he'd just drawn. We were playing a  fun and silly game that Courtney had sent for my birthday, following a fabulous meal prepared by Bill and Emily to celebrate my latest trip around the sun.

We all looked at Amy sympathetically. The rest of us knew the answer, of course, but she was visiting from Arizona and hadn't seen Treat in decades. Even so, Treat was encouraging. "I bet you could figure it out," he said.

"Is it William?" she guessed, logically choosing his father's name.

"No," he answered, "but you can still get it. You actually have all the information you need."

Heidi jerked her head at Treat and raised her eyebrows dramatically, trying to provide a clue, but Amy was still confused. "I give up!" she sighed, "unless it's Melvin?" she joked.

"It's Treat!" We all told her in unison.

Amy didn't skip a beat. "Your name is Treat Treat?"

The Flow

A friend from high school texted the other day to see if I was free either Tuesday or Wednesday of this week. She was in town to tend to her 90-year-old aunt and had some free time, so we made plans to spend the afternoon together today. It just so happened that my family birthday dinner was tonight, too, and so Amy was included in the celebration. We had a fun time! And it may have been even sweeter because all the pieces just fell into place.

The same was true of our stay at the beach last week: I happened to find a place in a great location that was available for a few days that worked for us. The weather cooperated, and we spent a magical three days walking on the beach, exploring the trails in the state park up the street, hanging with our friends, eating seafood and cooking out, and revisiting old haunts.

And this evening, Treat told us all about the kayaking trip in Maine he had recently returned from. Again, it seemed like the details fell easily into place, and even being fogged in for a day on a deserted island was a pleasant twist in their itinerary. They had osprey and harbor seals for company, and used the wetsuits that the outfitter provided to swim in the frigid coastal waters. They even had a Thích Nhất Hạnh book that everyone took turns reading aloud from.

I love stories of ease and flow almost as much as I appreciate that feeling of well-being when it happens. It often feels like there is so much to struggle against that it's easy to lose any sense of innate well-being and balance. I'm ever so m grateful I was able to reconnect with it today.

Mending a Fuse

I love my birthday! But because it falls at the end of the month? Depending on what else is going on in the next few days, I often end up paying bills. Even so, in addition to pickleball, yoga, and the pool, the chore just added to my sense of accomplishment today. 

Bring it 64!

Is it Me?

I'm not particularly excited about the Fourth of July this year. To be honest, I'm never that into the holiday, perhaps because one, it falls right after my birthday, and two, it's in the summer, so it's never even been a day off for me. I understand that to some, this may be a marquee year, in that it is the 250th anniversary of the founding of our nation (or as a rather pompous friend of mine chooses to optimistically call it, the quarter-millennium), but to me that level of enthusiasm seems a little, ahem, trumped up. 

Maybe it's because of the divisive politics of our time, the tussle to righteously claim the soul of the country, and thereby the right to celebrate it. But, really, I think it's because I was around to celebrate the bicentennial and all the 200th anniversaries of everything leading up to it, and honestly? Half a hundred just doesn't seem that legit.

Lost Opportunity

Dinner was over, and the sunlight was waning to summer gold when I heard it: the unmistakable jingle of an ice cream truck sounded from somewhere nearby. My jaw dropped in disbelief. In the 28 years we've lived in this condo complex, tucked away from the rest of the county as it is, there has never been an ice cream truck.

My first instinct was to grab a dime and run for my popsicle. In fact, I did leap off the couch and crane my neck, peering through the window to see if my ears deceived me. A moment later, the Mr. Softee truck cruised into view, and I opened the sliding glass door and stepped out on the balcony, my thoughts racing.

Clearly? A dime would not be sufficient, and anyway, I would want something better than a popsicle, which was the only thing my brother, sister, and I were ever allowed to buy. What was on the menu? I wondered. And how do you even conduct a transaction with the ice cream man these days? Can I tap my watch? Use a credit card? Must I have cash?

But before I could form a plan of action, the jingle started up again, and the truck rolled away, probably because there were no customers. 

I sighed and returned to the couch. Maybe I'll be more prepared in 2054.