A little while ago, I’m sitting here in the livingroom, drinking in the Christmas tree, listening to a Christmas CD (unique English carols, hymns and anthems from the period 1750–1850), and totally engrossed in reading Horowitz’s Unholy Alliance: Radical Islam and the American Left (Yeah, I know. Not exactly complementary activites, but I’m in an eclectic mood tonight :).
Rick, who uncharacteristically fell asleep on the couch about three hours ago, awakens, walks over to me, and says, ‘Sorry I haven’t been much company tonight, Joanie. I guess the busy weekend got to me.’ He kisses me goodnight, and turns to go upstairs.
To which I say, ‘Why are you going to bed so early, especially after having slept the night away down here?’
He walks back to me, stands in front of my chair, looking at the grandfather clock behind me, and says, ‘What do you mean early? It’s after midnight.’ To which I respond, ‘What do you mean after midnight? It’s only a little after eight o’clock.’
We both stare at each other in a mutual, energy-less it’s been a long few days daze, only to simultaeously realize that he is reading a clock that I had neglected to wind, and I have been afflicted with senile dyslexia, having read the digital clock on my lap top as 08:10 rather than 10:08.
As my Dad used to say, getting old ain’t for sissies. :)
Signing off now ... It’s way past my bedtime (11 past 37) ...
~ joanie