Today was the monthly meeting of the Book Ladies, a group I’ve belonged to for over thirty years, gulp! One other woman shares my longevity, but the rest are newcomers of various duration. We never meant to be a ladies group—all those years ago, we just gathered friends whose lives revolved around books and they happened to be all ladies. No men applied. We have no dues, no minutes, no agenda. We just gather at The Neighborhood Grill, order breakfast, and sit and talk, sometimes about books, sometimes not. By serendipity or good fortune, I don’t know which, we are all liberals or progressives or whatever you want to call us. Years ago, there was one woman among us, someone I really liked, who stopped coming to breakfast because she was uncomfortable about the politics. I think this was in the days when George W. Bush was working up to invading Iraq.
I enjoy these breakfasts, am fond of several of the women, but I confess these days when the table is crowded and the restaurant noisy, it’s hard for me to keep up with the conversation. Darn, some days I hate this aging business. Today a woman who I used to work with sat across from me, and we had a good conversation.
Home to work for a bit and then to lunch with Mary Dulle. Mary always asks if I have errands to run and today I did, so we went to Albertson’s where I bought wine and shampoo (essentials), but the main focus of my grocery list was items on the Food Bank list. Mary admired my skill with the automated cart, but when I got out in the parking lot, it was apparent that cart was losing its battery. I practically had to push it the last little bit with my feet. What should have been easy turned complicated. Then we went to CVS to pick up prescriptions, and I somehow managed to sign the cashier’s slip and return my debit card to them with that slip. Came home, frantically searched purse, bags, etc. Mary searched her car—nothing. I finally called CVS and yes, they have it. Mary will drive me up there tomorrow.
Meantime, I came home and minded my own business. Feeling domestic, I baked oatmeal raisin cookies (frozen, a band fund-raiser for Jacob) and oh my, they were good. Then I baked the frozen spanakopita Mary brought me from the Greek Festival—baked the whole pan and will refreeze it. One piece was plenty—so good but so rich.
Mary said there used to be a column in the newspaper where people could air their gripes. In our neighborhood newsletter, a neighbor has started a “Cheers” column which I think is much more positive, but I can see the need to gripe. So my gripe today: is the proposed tax bill really going to include an exemption for owners of golf resorts? How much more toady can Congress become? And 45, as our president is licensing an escort service in China under his name? Surely, I’m mistaken, but I fear not. What ever happened to the dignity of the office? I agree with whoever said they would now vote for any functioning adult.