Linda—a retired nurse
Nancy—a disaffected priest
Vicky—a retired lawyer
Sharon—a massage therapist
Setting: A coffee shop. They are all seated around the table.
I hate it that I can’t remember things. Yesterday it was my glasses. I took them off when I came home from running errands because they were fogged up from the mask and the cold, and I put them somewhere. And when I sat down to read the paper, I realized I didn’t have them on my face. So I looked on the table in the front all. Not there. KItchen counter. Not there. Then I asked Sharon if she’d seen them.
I asked her if she left them in the car. Well, no.
I went out to check. Retraced my steps. And realized I had checked email on my computer and I always take my glasses off to look at the screen. But they weren’t on my desk. Then Binky came in and walked across the keyboard. Damned cat is determined to leave his mark on everything I do.
Hey! He’s old. He just wants attention.
Sorta like me.
Ha! Like all of us.
It’s been a long time since I”ve walked across a keyboard. Maybe I should try that.
So you obviously found them, since they’re on your face now.
Yeah. Turns out Binky had somehow knocked them on the floor, and I couldn’t see them on the carpet. Geez. I’m getting pathetic.
Bob and I got an idea awhile ago. We could get a big, big basket and put everything in it. That way we could always find things. Keys, glasses, mail, coffee cups, water bottles, gloves, hats, library books. . .
I love it. But how big would the basket have to be?
Mine would have to be the size of my house. And I live alone.
Huh. I might try that, actually. A basket by the door.
Let us know if it works. Vicky can’t find her calendar now that it’s not on her phone.
But that’s probably okay. it’s not like I do anything but have coffee with you people.
Speaking of which—gotta go. Same time next week?
Yup. See you then.