From Footsie to Fog

It was just a few days ago that I was enjoying the balmy breezes of Houston, Texas AND life with the grandkids.  Now I’m back in Pennsylvania and freezing!  It’s cold up here.

When I woke up the first morning after my return home, I rolled over and said to the Commander, “Do you hear that?”

“What?” he said.

“My point exactly,” I replied.  “It’s silent as can be.  There are no sounds of children.”   In fact, all we could hear were our bones creaking as we moved in the bed.

Now it seems strange to relax in a chair and put my feet up without a little one coming over and either using my legs as a jungle gym or pulling themselves up by grabbing my feet.

Today I had to go to the Army clinic next town over to pick up a prescription.  As I drove up to the gate, I rolled down my window and stuck my ID out to show the guard.

“Um, don’t you have a military ID,” he asked me.

“What?  What did I give you?” I asked in confusion.

“Your driver’s license,” he said.

“Oh, my goodness.  Yes, of course,” I stammered as I rummaged through my purse.   I pulled out my military ID and handed him the proper identification.

“Sorry about that,” I laughed.  “I’ve been out of town for 3 weeks helping to watch my grandchildren and I’m a little out of it at the moment.  That’s what watching toddlers for 3 weeks will do to your brain.”

He laughed.  “Don’t feel bad,” he said.  “The other day a lady handed me her Visa card.  And I had another lady who just handed me her purse and said, ‘Here, pick one.’  Of course, she WAS about seventy.”

He handed me back my ID and I was on my way.  Hey, at least I didn’t insist that he call me “Thomas the Train” or “Diesel 10.”

I wonder how the grandkids would have handled it?

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Hot Flashed Funk


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