Next door to us a new family moved in which included a 6-year-old girl and 2-year-old boy. They moved across country and left a lot of their toys and possessions behind. This seemed a rare opportunity to give them the things in our garage and house that our grandchildren have outgrown. The tricycle on top of the heap in the garage was resurrected and sent across the street.
I tried to put in operation the cheerleading doll upstairs. She had been a gag gift to my husband who regards cheerleading as a unique American sport. She was supposed to give out a cheer when her belly was pushed, but the batteries were dead. It took me a while to locate the right type of screwdriver, extract the batteries, go to the drugstore and get the right size, and then put her back together. Finally, she worked and I took her across the street and presented her to the little girl who was delighted at the new toy.
Then I noticed that every room in our small house had a radio in it. The only radio that really worked well was connected to the television by my son on one of his visits. The rest were just sitting there, monuments to past experiences with the latest in radio technology or useful tape players better known as boom boxes. The first radio to go was from Cambridge, Massachusetts and had been acquired when we were first married. I moved it to the stairs and before I got it out of the house it disappeared, my husband had taken and put it somewhere else. Then I put one of the boomboxes on the stairs on its way to Goodwill. My husband confronted me with what I was doing, He said, “You’re giving away all of my things.” Naturally I said, “What of your things am I giving away?” He said as he angrily went up the stairs, “My boombox and my cheerleading doll.” It was just too much. Even now I can’t stop laughing at the prospect of a 70-year-old man with a boombox and a cheerleading doll. Needless to say, I changed my attention from cleaning out the house of useless items to painting a room, staying out of trouble.
One evening I was just too tired to cook. I suggested that my husband make his own sandwich. The ingredients were all there, tomatoes, lettuce, mayo, rolls, cheese, and a nature burger. He piled it all on and as I was sitting resting nearby I kept hearing a dinging sound. I asked, “Have you turned off the timer on the stove?” and he said, “ I never turned it on.” Since I could still hear it dinging, I asked, “Did you take the bread out of the toaster oven?” and he said, “Of course.” The dinging kept on and finally I got up and found that he had eaten his sandwich without the nature burger which he was heating in the microwave. He had piled the sandwich so full that he never missed the burger.
When this pandemic is over, I’m sure he will sigh with relief, but meanwhile we have both had to adjust to a lot.
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