Wednesday, December 09, 2015

Housekeepers day.

Her last day.


She has been with me since 1999 or 98. We shared many  laughs, many stories, many memories from her childhood.

All that is gone, now.

She tells me she has taken a job with the Senior Citizens Center in her town. She is to be the Cook/Chief Honcho for the seniors open lunches and administrator of the Meals on Wheels program. To order all the food stuffs and oversee the dietary needs of the clientele of her center.

She seems happy with the decision. That is a good thing or her. She’s happy that her and hubby will be  town bound, needing only two cars (rather than one each with one or two spares for breakdowns), and regular work days – to say little of the paychecks coming in regularly.

The largest portion of the decision, she said after much hedging, was the ability to pay for her Obama Care. She was having lots of trouble with that.

I wish her well, and hope that she stays off the highways that she feels will kill her. She’s been  becoming more and more paranoid about the highway leading South from her home town.

The truckers, she says, won’t yield the center of the road anymore and she is becoming more afraid to drive it given the accident rates of the truckers.

She is getting older, and as so many elders do, she keeps station on the highways with peripheral vision, not realizing she does it. When she is subjected to using only the barr ditch, she starts to tighten up.

Care, Mary. I’ll miss your visits. Best of Luck. And, Thanks, ever so much.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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