Sunday, April 3, 2011

It’s About Time

Posted by Ed Galloway

With the death of Aunt Gladys at 96 and of Mabel, my friend Bob’s mother, who died just before her 102 birthday, time has been on my mind.  Both of them talked about how fast it had gone by and both thought they had more of it coming.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been over a year since we sold the house on Rainbow Drive and moved to the Rudds’ house where we’ve been so happy. Now, it’s time to make our home on the farm on Dover Road.

Most of our friends and acquaintances have been pretty kind about all this (they're nicer than I am).  Beyond asking how far is the commute and where is a liquor store and how are you going to get internet, they have by and large kept their misgivings to themselves.  Never wondering aloud, to me at least, what on earth are Ed and Debbie thinking – a quarter mile to the morning paper, no neighbors, what if they get sick in the night, what if they’re eaten by coyotes or blown up by a meth lab,etc.

It’s a little anxiety-ridden – what have we failed to consider?  Well, we’re about to find out.  

Anyway, I get to look at my things again, which have been packed away in boxes for the past year. I had to go through a major downsizing when we got married 25 year ago.  Always generous, Debbie let me keep all my bachelor stuff – as long as it would fit in a cigar box. And I still have it:  a King Edward cigar box with my arrowhead, corn cob pipe, Mammoth Cave pencil shaped like a rifle, Stan Musial baseball card and Indian head penny.

However, in the meanwhile I’ve collected a bunch of other invaluable stuff that will be like new to me -- when I find it. 

For example, I bought an old fishing rod at an antique store in Florida.  "Look", I said, "only $90".  Debbie stumped me with her response, “What are you going to do with it?” Now, maybe I can find out.

I do swear to get rid of clothes that I don’t wear … unless, maybe I’ll need them on Dover Road.  Also, I’m going to go through everything to find all sock matches.  For years I’ve expected each missing sock to come home like a long-lost child.  Now, I promise to get rid of all unmatched socks – well, unless these perfectly good singles match up pretty well – at least well enough for the farm. We’ll see.

And so forth and so on.

Tune in soon for the rest of the story…


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