Barbara J. Hamby

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Busy Barb

In spite of a poor night’s sleep last night, I’ve been zipping through today’s “To Do” list like there’s no tomorrow. There is a tomorrow, but its list is already so long there’s no room for leftovers, since I’ll be leaving for California Thursday morning.

I even got my filing done, updated my medications list to carry in my billfold and copy for the refrigerator record and made copies of my registration on the Internet as an organ donor. I just learned about doing that as reinforcement for the “D” on my driver’s license. Just in case there’s anything left that’s worth using when I’m gone, I’d certainly like some needy person to have it.

That reminds me of the cartoon I saw yesterday (probably in The New Yorker) where a fellow is pouring ashes from an urn into a waste basket and explaining, “He was such a neat freak, he’d approve,” or words to that effect. I’ve been described as a neat freak, so it seemed particularly funny to me.

The “I’ll get around to this paperwork sometime soon, maybe, stack” on my desk was just dusted by our housekeeper yesterday, so it’s good to go for a while longer. Speaking of that gal, she seems to be a perfectionist, or at least a neat freak. Yesterday, after she left, I noticed she’d not only wiped down the microwave, but also de-crumbed the toaster oven. What a jewel she is. And it isn’t even close to Christmas.

My sisters, niece and other family members have been enjoying the story of the 102-year-old lady golfer in Chico, California who just scored a hole-in-one at Bidwell Park golf course. She’s been playing there for 70 years, so don’t give up, folks. Chico is where I’ll be Thursday through Tuesday and Bidwell Park is on our sightseeing list.  I expect there’ll be some marker to identify the hole where she broke the record of a 101-year-old man, I understand. If so, I’ll have to get a picture of it as an inspiration for the rest of us old ladies, even the ones such as myself, who don’t play golf.

At swimming yesterday, I was complaining to this youngster of 50 or so, about how I really don’t like to cook much any more. She loves to cook, but due to a physical disability is living with her mother, who won’t let her in the kitchen. When I got home, Floyd said, “Why don’t we try out some restaurant we haven’t been to before.” I hadn’t complained to him (not lately at least), so I was pleasantly surprised. We had a pretty good dinner at Davidson’s and I had enough leftover to furnish lunch for both of us today.

And now for a nap.

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