I received some feedback on my last column about merchants putting roadblocks in my shopping trips. Most people agreed with me.
Speaking of shopping, men will understand this problem; I donít know about women. Iíll be shopping for some hardware item: say 3/8 inch bolts so I go to the little bin marked ď3/8 inch bolts,Ē and take out a handful, put them in a bag, and check out. When I get home, I find two or three ľ inch bolts in the bag. Some guy got the wrong size, when he got to the right bin, he just dropped the wrong size bolts in, and took the right size. So I donít look; I just reach in and take a bunch including the wrong ones. This is how men shop. I can always use ľ inch bolts somewhere.
I did the same thing with jeans. The pile said the right size, so I bought the jeans, took them home, cut the tags off, threw them in the washer, and when I took them out, they were the wrong size! My shopping hex kicked in again.
Nuts and bolts are pennies apiece; the jeans were $25. I donít think I can return them after theyíve been laundered. OK, remember the seam tape? If it works, Iím ok, if not, I know I can do cut-offs. Man, 2013 has been stressful already!
Of course itís time to deal with the Tax Man. My taxes are getting simpler as I get older, but Iíve lost all my dependents so I pay more. I donít complain about taxes because I think for the most part, we get a pretty good deal, but I do think they could make it easier.
Loneliness is an enemy of widowed people. I read a tragic story in Dear Abby from a widow who seemed rather pleased that she developed terminal cancer because the medical facility staff was like family. I guess this is carrying togetherness a little too far, but I understand what she means. I sometimes carry on conversations with medical personnel because they are trained to listen and we really need someone to listen to us.
Fortunately there are support groups for widowed folks that can help out. Of course it isnít the same as being with your long time mate, but itís a heck of a lot better than sitting staring at the walls by yourself.
Speaking of Dear Abby, the original Dear Abby, Pauline Phillips, died recently ending an era of sage advice given by her and her sister Ann Landers. Iím a faithful reader if for no other reason than to prove Iím not the dumbest person alive.
Stay warm! firstname.lastname@example.org, or care of Winona Post, P.O. Box 27, Winona, MN 55987.