Just this past weekend, (as I am writing this story), I finished up driving our little red sports car from Sacramento to Phoenix. The car is a 2000 Mazda Miata with still under 30,000 miles on it. Believe it or not, it even still smells like a new car inside. I had burned one of my favorite James Lee Burke audiobooks onto cd and this really helped to keep me alert during the 14 hour drive. For extra company, I had purchased some D cell batteries for my Sirius Sportster ‘boombox’. While I was down in Phoenix, I did get an opportunity to take in a round of golf. I hooked up with a very nice Canadian couple for the round. As I was trying to add to our conversation topics, I was reminded of one of only two of my visits to Canada.
As I’m sitting down to begin writing this week’s story, Christmas has just ended for 2016. This time of the year is associated with a spirit of giving. I’ve always believed that we each receive so much more when we give. As a matter of fact, I received the most memorable switching as a result of giving away a can of my dad’s soup without asking first, (a not so fun memory related to giving – link). But this week’s story about ‘giving’ is a funny memory for me.
The night I began writing this true tale is in the middle of December, just a couple of days before the coming of the shortest day of the year. We are so busy this month as we prepare for a final relocation to Phoenix. There is so much to do when moving and especially when downsizing. The biggest job of course is the rummaging through 2-3 decades of ‘stuff’ – do we keep the three bins of the kids’ kindergarten artwork? What gets sold on EBay? What gets donated to Goodwill? Should I send my name and address to this guy in Jackson, Florida so he can send me a check for my wife’s curio, the one he just loves from my Craigslist ad? And what about Blackey, the outdoor cat who adopted us 12 years ago?
Not too long ago, I had an eye examination. I like to make sure I’m seen at least every other year. If for nothing else, I like to make sure no early stage of glaucoma is coming on. As usual, my ophthalmologist flipped out the lights on us and then flashed the tiny alphabet soup chart on the wall and told me to read the third line from the bottom. To that, I said to her – I think I can read the bottom line.