Good Morning.
I am at my desk where I spend at least six hours a day seven days a week. I have a container of business cards on my desk, a modest collection that is reflective of my life. On top is a Pier I credit card. I recently purchased a package of thirty tea candles, unscented, white, and cheap, that will get me through the holidays. Next we have a computer guy who makes house calls. Apple Sales and Service with a Great Bedside Manner, the card reads. I don't remember ever doing business with him but his name is Ryan so I can probably conclude that he's under the age of forty. The next card belongs to a woman who sells olive oil. I don't like olives but I love olive oil and cannot exist without it.
Next we have my eye doctor, also a woman. All of the medical professionals in my life are women: my personal physician, my dentist, my veterinarian, and my eye doctor. Women doctors are good for women patients because they talk about stuff that men doctors don't talk about, e.g. my regular doc advises me on what kind of moisturizer to use and asks me how I'm getting along mentally, even if I'd like to date again and I actually cleaned that last part up a bit. Men don't get into issues like that and the answer is so, I don't want to date again, in fact I can't imagine anything more horrifying.
Then we have the people who get rid of dandelions and crab grass, a plumber with a slogan All Things Water, Waste, and Natural Gas - not aesthetically appealing in my view - an auto body shop, the guy who sold me my cell phone, a florist, a guy who mowed my lawn for awhile and also whacked out some wonderful plants because he thought they were weeds, and seven AARP cards. American citizens start hearing from this organization at the age of fifty and it's poppycock. These are the folks who lobby in Washington for old people and have determined that senescence begins at fifty. Good Christmas, when I was fifty I felt like thirty and acted like it too.
Also on my desk is a container of pens, a garbage service calendar that tells me when to recycle, and a prayer, framed in silver, that promises to drive out all snares of the enemy that I take to mean anything that would do harm to my home and presumably myself. It was given to me by someone who is a great deal more pious than I am and who apparently thought I need some divine intervention. I have stacks of cookbooks, old magazines, and several movies I have recently watched at my desk. They include All the President's Men, Four Weddings and a Funeral, and Spotlight, the film about The Boston Globe's investigation into the church scandal. The movies are also reflective of me; I'm interested in politics, I love anything British, and I heartily support a free press, particularly at the moment.
I have a stack of computer paper, a woefully bare social calendar, and a phone director I never use because I don't know anyone who still has a land line. Inside my center drawer I have the usual junk - paper clips, post its, rubber bands, stamps, return address labels, and a list of all my passwords. Underneath the desk is a wastebasket, crammed full, and a box of CDS with everything from Beethoven to Elvis. I'm more inclined toward the former these days, being a member of the AARP and the recipient of a monthly magazine with tips on how to sleep with a new hip replacement and where to vacation with a walker. Now that I've begun my day on such a promising note, I will head for the kitchen where I will see another reflection of myself in another oblong object: four kinds of cheese, chocolate ice cream, frozen meat, Rose's lime juice, and a bin full of potatoes.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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