The stuff of life...

It's been busy here. Most of it good busy, or at least merely the stuff of life.  The stuff that can be tedious and time consuming, but basically innocuous.  

I now consider myself officially a senior citizen.  Turning 65 next month, I had signed up for Medicare in January, and just last week finally got signed up for my medigap (supplemental) insurance.  It feels like I have stuff to say about that, that I think could be helpful to a newby such as myself.  But the main thing I feel compelled to note here is that I am old.  

No offense meant to those of you older than me.  Getting older is the best earthly option we have, so there is no point in complaining.  I'm happy with the tribe that is mine.

A busy week topped off nicely last night with new(ish) friends joining us for dinner at our place.  About a half hour before they arrived it occurred to me to cut some daffodills from the side yard for the table.  These flowers are planted in a spot where I can't see them easily from the house, and since they'd been in bloom for over a week, I figured I might as well bring some inside and enjoy them for a few days.

After cutting a bouquet's worth, I was surprised their absence was barely noticeable in the clump of flowers left behind.  I made a mental note to do this earlier next year.  It seems to me growing flowers outside should come with the added perk of bringing some inside to enjoy.

And then, to make the evening even more special, our guests brought a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  

Two bouquets!  I had a quick flashback to last summer when I was healing from surgery and for weeks I enjoyed fresh flowers from friends. I have learned to appreciate the wonderful benefits of fresh cut flowers.

For supper, I made lasagna. In truth, it wasn't the best I've ever made, but it wasn't so bad that I felt I should apologize.  It was that awkward level of not-my-best, where the guests have no idea that I've made better, but for me to say anything about it would just make everyone uncomfortable and feel like they have to assure me it's delicious - which I would find humiliating.  There was no way around it but to just kept my thoughts to myself and accept that they'll never know I've made (and probably will make) better.  

I'm happy to say my less-than-stellar lasagna did not stop the conversation from flowing.   We talked non-stop from the minute our guests arrived at 5:30 'till they finally decided they were whipped shortly after 9:00.  While they are our age, they are working folk; we're retired and relaxed, so they naturally wore out before we did.  That said, I got a charlie horse in the back of my leg about the time one of them said she was starting to fade.  Jumping out of my chair, I grabbed my leg, trying to quickly figure out how to get the spasming to stop.  No movement or stretch I made standing there helped, so seconds later I excused myself saying  "I'm so sorry, I think I've just gotta walk this off".  

Like a limping horse out of a paddock, I left the room, circled the kitchen island, then limped into the laundry room, torn between laughing with embarrassment and crying from pain.  What a sight I must have been - bolting to my feet in the dining room and taking off like I did.   The others, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world (bless them), gathered what remained of the dishes and took them into the kitchen.  Then they put their coats on and we said a fairly quick goodbye at the front door.  As they were walking to their vehicle in the driveway, my leg finally relaxed.  I called out to tell them my leg settled down and I was fine - not even sure if they could hear me.

What a ridiculous ending to their first evening at our house.  On the positive side, I suppose we now have a funny story between us.  I just wish it wasn't at the expense of my pride.