Afternoon Delight

I was thinking about just how fast old age rushes up on you. 

Everything is going along all hunky dory, free as a bird for so long and then one day all the systems decide to fail in unison.

I never signed up for this shit.

I took a minor detour down memory lane this morning.

Thinking about some of the things I miss from my youth.

Like being able to clip my own toe nails.

And non woke shampoo that would actually lather and clean.

Ditto hand soap.

Most of the soap I use these days is environmentally sensitive and fairly worthless.

Might break down and buy something old school, like a bar of Irish Spring. It actually works.

And they sure don't make triple XL shirts like they used to.

Damned if they aren't fitting snugger.

I saw that Minute Maid is now getting out of the frozen citrus market. Hey those cans were our telephones when I was a kid, all it took was a long enough string.

Do we really need a sticker on every piece of fruit in the market, no matter how small?

I miss cd players in cars, hate apple car play and plugging my phone in. Miss the superdrive cd on my desktop too. Bring back tangible media. 

I miss Fireball XL5. And Malto Meal commercials.

Allison Steele, the Night Bird.

I hate being asked to give an online rating for every minor interaction in my life. Failure to do so might cause some poor bank teller her job or wreak havoc in the Philippines.

I miss talking to a doctor now and then instead of only getting to see the nurse practitioner. Haven't seen my cardiologist in over four years. Well nowadays you only get thirty seconds at best with them anyway.

I miss fudgesicles for a nickel and the wintergreen lifesavers that would spark in the dark in the sixth grade.

I miss the slow dance at the skating rink.

Remember when they would check your car's oil and fluids at the gas station? When was the last time you saw that?

I miss ten dollar cans and sticky roaches. And every friend having an acoustic guitar in their house and everybody jamming. And dining room tables made from old SDGE wire spools.

Watching demo derby on Saturday and Gene Scott at midnight.

I went to Grangettos today to buy a top for a busted sprinkler. 

Twenty cent part. 

Or it used to be anyway before the state mandated that every fitting now sold in the State of California had to have a pressure relief valve. 

Two bucks now minimum.

Preposterous.

Thank you, Nanny State.

*

Speaking of getting my fluids checked.

I was thinking the other day about all the cool stuff from my life that I can't really share because it was so racy or possibly illegal and maybe the statute of limitations hasn't expired yet?

This is such a story. One of life's tender moments.

No harm in spilling at this point.

I believe we need to go back to 1978 for this vignette, might be 79 but let's say 78. 

I am all of 20 or 21, and in a hospital bed in Point Loma at Sharp Cabrillo Hospital.

I have just undergone a radical knee surgery which involved repairing my anterior cruciate, medial collateral and meniscus.

Would put me in a cast for the next five months. 

Horrible doctor, the late David Handler, wanted to tell me about, well never mind...

So I am lying in the bed, feeling sorry for my self when there is a loud rap on the door.

"Who is it?" I asked.

A lovely and sonorous canary chirped from the other side of the door, "It's your Aunt Betty."

I was stumped. Aunt Betty? I didn't have an Aunt Betty. No matter.  "Come on in."

A comely young lass opened the door, gave me a large wink, turned around and then locked it behind her in a single motion. She gave me a big smile, then unzipped her dress and joined me on the hospital bed to engage in all sorts of absolutely delicious fragrant delicto or as much as I could muster anyway at that moment with a large cast on my leg.

I can't give you all sorts of the ins and outs of the proceeding at this advanced date but do remember it really elevated my general sense of well being as well as some other things.

We got to talking later. It turns out that she had actually been a nurse once but found that her honest attraction and inclination was to making love to patients' bodies, not fixing them. Bless her. Have to find your place in this world.

Fair enough. Got to love it in fact. There is room for all sorts of personal interaction on god's good earth and she was an angel of heaven for me at that point. This Florence Nightingale was on a mission of mercy.

And just so happened to be an afternoon gift from my father and my heating and air conditioning man, George Morris and the boys at Poway Heating and Air Conditioning.

God bless you George. God bless you Dad. You were the best dad in the world, that week anyway. Will never forget that as long as I live. How could I? Just what I needed. Thank you too Aunt Betty, wherever you are. Appreciate the whole deal.