Tag: slice of life

The Day

We hit the road at 10:10. Interstate 5 North. Good sunny travel weather, moderately heavy traffic.

A gas stop at Costco in Roseburg returned us to a full tank. Back onto I5 N for a few more miles, leaving it at Sutherlin, now going west through the mountains, to the coast. We entered Florence at 2 PM.

Neither of us had commented on the lack of RVs and travel trailers on the road. They’re usually good for slowing our progress to a snail’s stroll. The rule of the car is, don’t notice something good out loud, or you’ll jinx us.

Lunch was done at a Florence favorite, Traveler’s Cove. After a walk through town, we headed to our hotel. The Driftwood Shores Resort and Conference Center offers okay accommodations. We like it because you’re right on the Pacific Ocean and all the rooms face the beach. We were there for ocean, dude. It’s the waves.

I unpacked my clothes. Set up my toiletry. Arranged my shoes. Hung stuff up and put things into drawers. My wife sat and read her book while I was doing this. This is one of our major differences: I always unpack, like I’m living there. She leaves everything in her suitcase, pulling it out as needed.

We walked the beach, gritting our teeth against a stiff sea breeze. The sun was unblocked by anything, and the waves were strenuous, constantly pounding, noisy but soothing.

Back in the room, I opened a bottle of red wine, poured a glass and watched the waves until, finally, some piece of me whispered, “Let’s go see what’s happening on the Internet.”

So here I am, watching the waves, typing, reading, sipping wine.

The view from the room.

3

SoCS – Sweet

This week, Linda Hill’s prompt was sweet for the Saturday Stream of Consciousness. Here we go.

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Sweet, I thought, go to the coast, get away, enjoy the weather and eat something different and just be someone different somewhere doing something different watching waves, breathing the air, smelling it –

Hope it all goes well. Why shouldn’t it? Well…yeah. Life.

Maybe I should eat something. Cookie? Scone would be nice. Blueberry. Lemon.

Time to go home.

2

The Discussion

Four women were chatting at a nearby table at the coffee shop. Appearing similar in age to me, two women dominated the talking. One was short and slender, with fair skin and dark, bobbed hair. The other was tanner and smaller. Smiling a lot, her silver hair fell around her shoulders.

They were talking about toothpaste. Looking up from my writing, I tuned in as the first woman said, “I put a pea-sized amount on my brush.”

One of the other women, heavy, with dry brown hair that came to her shoulders, loudly, sharply scoffed. “That’s not enough.”

The first woman replied, “That’s what the directions say to use.”

The brown-haired woman snorted. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to put toothpaste on all the bristles, from one end to the other.”

The conversation fell still for several seconds. “Anyway,” the first woman resumed.

I returned to my writing.  

2

The Stuff

Mom has moved out of her house and into an assisted living facility.

A household of things have been left behind that we need to move to sell her house. That includes clothing, paintings, vases, dishes, appliances, furniture, electronics. My sisters contacted liquidators and estate sales businesses to see if they would do it for a cut.

Short answer: no. Not enough of value to make it worthwhile.

I wasn’t overly surprised. Mom has tons of clothing and shoes but none is really vintage. She has furniture but the agents said that furniture is a hard sale these days.

My wife and I talked about this in relation to our own life. Adverse to an estate sale after she passes on, my wife has been doing a slow-roll death clean: a drawer a day. A closet. Organizing, tossing, donating. She used to refer to it as simplifying; now she just calls it the death clean.

It’s one of the places where we diverge on our philosophies. I consider my life busy and frantic enough to do without going through my belongings to see what I still want and want I need to throw away or donate. I do so sometimes, but I don’t make it part of my daily or weekly routines.

This exchange summarizes it for us. My wife said, “I don’t want people having to come through the house to get rid of things for me.”

I replied, “I don’t care. I won’t be there.”

As I walk around the house, I wonder, what would the estate sales agents say to me?

I suspect they’ll tell me the same thing they said about Mom’s stuff.

4

Tires & Food

We bought new tires for one of our vehicles yesterday.

I took a memory train back to the first time I bought new tires after I was married.

That would be 1975. The car was a 1968 Camaro. Sweet, small, fast car. RS, 327 V8, automatic. I bought it for $1100 after I arrived at my first permanent duty station in my Air Force career, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, in Ohio. Paid cash.

I married later that year. My wife and I have wonderful memories of being together in that car.

Buying new tires for it was a major financial decision. Recaps were cheap, $20-$25 each, installed. But recaps? I distrusted their safety and reliability.

That meant new tires: $40 each.

$160.

Ouch.

We didn’t have credit cards, so we’d need to buy the tires with cash. I had that in savings but that would severely reduce the balance.

I remarked about this to my wife at dinner last night.

She remembered, adding, “Yes, the things we couldn’t afford then that we needed, and the things we buy now, that we really don’t need.”

I paid for the dinner with my credit card. Leaving, I thought, I could have bought two new tires for the price of that dinner.

Of course, I could have bought the Camaro for the price of the new tires I put on the car.

It’s all part of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.

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