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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ “Happy new year!” I say to the dementia patient. “It’s Rosh Hashanah!” I don’t think so, she responds. You are wrong, wrong, wrong.

~~ The aide agency says there’ll be a switch of persons. Then there won’t be. Then there obviously was one, because as I’m driving home yesterday, I see the (former) aide walking down the street. Not pushing her patient in the wheelchair, but alone. At noon. Walking away. Inside, there’s a new aide, barely minutes into her stay, already messing with the washing machine and talking on the phone.

~~ Overheard: “She gave him three chances to leave his wife. Don’t you think that’s plenty?”

~~ How about these generalizations?


~~ While trying my best to convert an undecided voter into a Hillary Clinton voter, I thought I was prepared to counter any propaganda. Yet the question, “Don’t you think a woman who wants to be president should wear a dress?” threw me for a momentary loop. I finally answered, “Not since 1952.” He laughed and continued the conversation, but frankly, that’s the lamest indictment I’ve heard since “hormones.” Dude is concerned about the IMF and Syria, and yet he wonders if dresses make a difference.

~~ Someone shared a Facebook post about the difference between being broke and being a millionaire was a person’s “mindset.” When I replied that broke can happen for any number of reasons other than those she enumerated (including watching TV instead of reading, holding grudges, and being fearful), she came at me full-force for trashing millionaires! She’s a Trump supporter, and I respected that because she never seemed overtly racist, sexist, or deplorable. However, once you praise or condemn someone solely based on what’s in a bank account rather than in his or her heart, that’s a step beyond politics. Apparently, she had no more use for me, either. Once she delivered a rousing missive on the good qualities millionaires possess as a group, she un-friended me.

~~ This was a very bad week for me. I found myself surrounded by people who love me, and I’m coping due to the wise words shared by a smart woman, yet I sank into an abyss all the same. Stick around for the navel gazing below, or come back next week, please. I’m OK with whatever choice you make.

~~ The state of my finances and the status of my household meant that I couldn’t reciprocate for Rosh Hashanah dinner as we have done for decades. That provoked some very dejected episodes. It also meant that I peered into a closet filled with clothing that ranged from early-George W. Bush times to pre-Bill Clinton times. I’ve never been a trendy person, but in pre-W times, I bought good quality, semi-timeless clothes that suited me just fine. Since W drained my coffers completely, I’ve bought clothes that cost under $20.00. They fall apart at the slightest provocation or gape, sag, pill, droop, and fade after the first wearing. But they ensure I won’t get arrested for public nudity and keep the cold away, so I never complained. Until I ended up going to the first day of holiday services wearing a shlumpy sweater and yoga pants. Yoga pants!

~~ The next day, everything I wore to services was older than my quarter-of-a-century-old son. Except my tights. My tights are definitely Obama tights.


~~ I don’t need clothes like I did when I practiced law and dealt with the public on a daily basis. I can type 800 words in a This is What a Feminist Looks Like tee shirt and no one’s the wiser. But geez, I never really expected to show up in photos taken 16 years apart wearing the same damn thing. Or have to wear black yoga pants to shul because the derriere of my good-quality pants (circa 1998) have become so tissue-paper thin that sliding across the car seat might cause me to moon the congregants in the parking lot.

~~ Then the Mets broke my heart once again. I could blather on about the excitement of the season, the wild ride towards the playoffs, the over-exceeding expectations. Nevertheless, I won’t. Because it’s my pity party and I’ll cry if I want to.

Have a great weekend! If you’re observing Yom Kippur, have an easy fast and an auto-entry into the Book of Life.
J!-E!-T!-S! JETS! JETS! JETS!
LET’S GO RANGERS!

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