The third day of fun and frolic began with a delightful breakfast filled with healthful foods. Most of the food tends to make the rest of the day be as smooth as a baby’s behind. That is also the part of the body from which we exude the processed food that we eat. Old folks really to follow a regimen that is conducive to proper bathroom activities. Since most of us are on some sort of chemical enhancements, we know exactly when we have to eat and deposit the effluence in the bathroom.
If the above does not sound quite right to you, then you are not old enough. “An elderly gentleman went to his physician and told him that he could no longer pee. The doctor asked him how old he was. He said 93. The doctor said, you’ve peed enough.”
All of this to say that as you age you watch your activities and time them that you are near a facility at all times.
Bob could not go with us to our next adventure. We were off to the craft show in the convention center in Ashville. Our plan was to go to the craft fair, then go to Malaprops, an unusual and great bookstore and then head on back. Since there were five of us operating at different speeds, the rate of completion was varied. My sister-in- law Ann must look at every item at every display. There is no passing by or giving some jewelry a passing glance. Therefore as Ann and her husband Martin operate at 5 miles per hour, Bob’s wife Judy operates at about 25 miles an hour. My wife, Carol goes at 35 miles an hour and I am at 50 miles an hour. You can see that none of us will complete the turns at the same time.And we don’t.
The fair is filled with jewelry, pottery, furniture, all sorts of wooden things including Native American flutes, unusual clothing, leather items and the most interesting thing of all- an all female shit kicking band. They were really good foot stomping noise. I waited downstairs at the quilting table and showed the women my wife’s great quilts (one day they will be in the museum of modern art) and they were impressed. Because of their interest, I bought 2 raffle tickets.
Carol and I walked around downstairs, saw the rest of the craftsmen and women and called our group and told them to meet us at Malaprops. Now, you wouldn’t think that a bookstore would have such meaning to a group of oldsters, but it does. Actually, I am really afraid to go in there. A number of years ago, we six (at a more talkative part of our lives) ventured in Malaprops to hear an author talk about his book. The title was kind of misleading. It was something about a trailer or mobile home. The author was a man of early middle age, who explained the story, why he wrote and why you should buy it. We did, in fact, buy copies and waited on line to have him sign the book. My sister-in-law’s husband, Martin, the erstwhile book critic and medical doctor took one look at the author and told him that, because of his goiter (a la Marty Feldman), he would probably die early. The author was angered and foul mouthed poor Martin, who showed no signs of having heard him. We all dragged Martin out of the store and asked him why he did that. He told us, in all sincerity, that he was only trying to help the guy.
So, our meeting at Malprops went well, with iced coffee and our yearly tour of the unusual books that inhabit their shelves. This year I purchased nothing. I was anxious to finish the 10 books that I already have waiting for me at home.
We went to a pleasant restaurant in town and ate lightly, expecting that our evening meal would be as sumptuous as Judy usually makes. She did not disappoint. Judy and Bob’s daughter, Karen, and her beau Don joined us. In some ways, I worry about how we are going to do this in the future. I don’t worry as much about Carol and myself, but do worry about the others. This will have been the 18th year (minus one for illness) that we have been doing this. Our original intent was to celebrate the lives of our forbearers, now the conversations are more on health, cars, food and trips taken in the past. Let it continue to be so. It is always a crazy gathering.