Serious as a Heart Attack

A new issue of AARP magazine came the other day. For some reason the contents seemed oddly familiar to me, like it was last month's contents with a new cover. I'd already read the article on how to save money at the supermarket and the list of must read books. I didn't recall seeing Clint Eastwood however. He's the latest celebrity to grace the cover to make us feel young again. We are after all getting AARP magazine.
Richard read aloud from an article titled, 'How to Prevent a Heart Attack'.
"Lose weight, especially those people who tend to gain weight around their middle," he read to me. Then he put the magazine down and asked, "Where do most people gain it? In their big toe?"
We peered over our mountain high bellies trying desperately to determine if our toes were fat or skinny.
"Guess we'll never know the answer to that question, will we?" as we wiggled toes we couldn't see.

A Man For All Seasons

"Meet me in my office," Richard announced this morning. He likes to have a morning business meeting every day. I kicked him out of my chair and made him sit in his own.
He grabbed the card file where we keep all the important numbers and started flipping through it.
Our conversation went something like this.
"What's that guy's name?" he asked.
I'm a mind reader. "What guy?" I replied.
"You know. The builder guy I need to call." He tapped his pen on the desk to help him think.
"Derek?"
"Yeah, Derek. What's his last name?"
"I have no idea. Jeter?"
"Very funny. What's that other place I need to call?" He scratched his head.
I'm a mind reader. "I have no idea."
"Oh, you know. What is it? I'm having a senior moment."
While Richard's busy having his moment, I checked email. I think I can still multi-task at the same high level as I did when I worked. I forget sometimes that I haven't worked in almost a year. My skills are pretty rusty. Never, ever try to insert a multi-task into a senior moment. I was asking for trouble.
"Autumn," I sneak into the conversation. "That's the girl with the truck." Autumn is someone we don't know. She's coming for Christmas dinner with my nephew and his wife. We couldn't remember her name so I had to look it up.
Richard opened up the bottom file cabinet. "I'll wrap those later for her," as he pulled out a couple things from our re-gifting stash.
"Can you wrap these for me too?" handing him a couple books from the shelf.
He's still admiring a candle he took from the drawer. "This will be a nice gift for April."
"Autumn." I correct him.
"Same thing. They're both seasons, aren't they?" Then he added, "When can I take the Christmas tree down?"
"Not yet. 'Tis the season, remember?"

Your Government Tax Dollars at Work

Richard received a letter from the Social Security Administration the other day. They wanted to raise his Medicare premium based on his 2008 income tax return.
"But we're unemployed! How can they do that?" I kept reading. He can dispute the amount if he had a life changing event. I read the list. My eyes focused in on number 5, work reduction and number 6, work stoppage. Hallelujiah!
I gathered all my proof, set the GPS in the car to the address for the local SSA office and told Richard to get in.
"You have arrived at your destination." said the woman in the GPS.
We parked at the end of a row far from the other cars. An old rusty, missing it's bumper, baby blue pick up truck parked covering three spaces far from the building. He wanted to make sure no one would hit his prized possession. I was right there with him after perusing the other cars in the lot.
At the front door, we walked directly into the side of a large, 5 foot tall black box and rows of folding metal chairs mostly filled with people. When we walked past the front of the box to find a seat, we noticed it contained a computer and a sign that said "Sign In". The touch screen computer listed five numbers each with a description. I touched the appropriate number and ten feet away on a desk, a number spit out of a machine. I retrieved it. It seemed like an awful lot of technology and energy for producing a number. The little green paper ones at the deli would work just as well.
Sitting at the desk was a security guard. Carrying a gun. Just in case a fight broke out over the numbers. We giggled to ourselves as we watched all the newcomers walk past the ominous black box never noticing the computer inside.
Finally our number was called. A plexiglass window with a small opening separated us from the clerk who was going to help us.
"Write your social security number on the number slip," she barked at us.
"Are you going to shred this when we're done?" I asked.
"All paper is shredded at the end of the day." as I watched her toss the paper into an overflowing wastebasket. Well it's Richard's identity that will be stolen, not mine. I shrugged it off.
She read our letter and says she can't help us.
"We don't have jobs," Richard pleads with her finally deciding to get in on the experience.
"Well then let me check."
We wait and we wait and we wait.
"Where's the crematorium?" Richard asked.
"I have no idea. Are you dying soon?" I wanted to know.
"We have to save some money. Take me directly to the crematorium. Bypass the funeral home."
"What brought this up?" I'm curious now.
"Everybody here looks like death warmed over. This place kind of smells like it too."
He made a good point.
The clerk returned. "I filed a dispute for you. We'll send you a letter."
We said thank you and left. The baby blue pickup still hogged half the parking lot.
"He never figured out how to take a number. He's still waiting." I quipped.
"Boy is he going to be mad when he figures out he needs a number. Good thing that guard packs a gun."

The Grocery Store Detective Agency

"Look, Linda! Tiger cheated!" exclaimed Richard as he pointed to the grocery store tabloids next to the checkout stand.
"On his taxes?" replied the cashier with a big wink.
"His wife didn't want to get him out of the car. She wanted to beat him up and the golf club was the closest weapon," added the girl bagging our groceries. "He must have a garage full of them."
"She hit the window and then he crashed into the fire hydrant." I added. "Not the other way around."
"We sure don't need a police report to figure that out," came from the cashier.
I chatted and laughed with the women over poor Tiger Woods while Richard calmly packed the shopping cart. We were about to leave the store, Richard turned waving good bye to the two women. "Case solved. I'm glad I stopped at the grocery store detective agency!"
"Next time the police need help have them ask us first!" as the laughing workers waved back.
We got in the car and headed toward home.
"Glad you didn't have to spend money on a copy of the National Enquirer this week aren't ya?" I asked.
"I think I'll cancel my subscription all together now. If I want the scoop I'll just ask the cashier. She's a detective."