My mother's birthday was a couple of days ago. I got her something that I'm pea green with envy over -- tickets to see Tony Bennett. She invited me to go with, but I think my dad might have something to say about that.
Anyhoo... she turned 69. When I called her the morning of her natal day, she announced that she knew "69 was something dirty, so I'm going to have a dirty year." Whatever that means. HA!
She's nuts ("eccentric" to those of us with Southern blood running through our veins) but I love her.
I think I'm listening to entirely too much '80s music these days, at least while I'm around Will. I asked him if he were hungry and he said "I'm hungry like the wolf." He also announced that he lives on Electric Avenue. His new favorite song is "Start Me Up." Which is fine, although I'm making a note to change the station before the part about making a dead man come pops up. That's all I need him to be repeating.
The weird merchant marine guy is back in town. Haven't seen him, but the parade of cars in front of his house and in his driveway has started. Best case scenario: he's a plain old drug dealer. Worst case: my property values are decreasing thanks to the Merchant Marine Meth Lab across the street.
Sight of the day: While I was doing time on the treadmill this morning at the Y, I noticed an older woman in a wheelchair coming up the sidewalk. Right behind her was her husband, carrying her walker, complete with tennis balls on the legs. And her prosthetic leg slung over her shoulder. All those men who complain about having to hold their wives' purses have nothing on this guy. That's love right there.