Little Feet

Today is my turn to make dinner. First I had to go to the grocery store to buy the ingredients, then prepare the meal. It’s not a complicated recipe and it would embarrass me to name the dish, but it’s a start. However, I did notice something at Publix, our grocery store of choice. As I walked the store I noticed not one other retired gentleman. There were plenty of ladies, several workers rearranging the shelves, but as far as men of a certain age—just me. At that point the thought occurred to me that perhaps I have stumbled in to some sort of trap by volunteering to cook dinner for my still employed wife. Regardless, it seems only fair for me to share some of the dinner making responsibilities since I am freshly in possession of free time and she is not.

Today was also the occasion of my first retirement project fail. My wife hates to be a nag so instead she leaves random lists lying about with items listed with little check boxes next to them with no one’s name at the top. She leaves these lists in inconspicuous locations but also locations where I am likely to not miss them entirely. She is a diabolical genius. Anyway, on one of these lists I noticed entries mentioning the need to replace two dimmer switches in and around the kitchen. They need replacing, it should be noted, because of errors made by the previous installing electrician, which I feel obligated to point out was…me. Nevertheless, I drove over to the hardware store, bought the new switches and then proceeded to fail miserably getting them installed. By way of explanation I have to admit that when I was growing up I showed zero interest in many traditional male adolescent fascinations like cars and building and tinkering with small engines etc..I was into sports and girls and not much else. So, I bring no skill and even less enthusiasm  to many homeowner-type tasks that men are expected to know how to do. I do not have the disposition of an engineer or tradesman. I’m more like a wise-cracking rogue who knows a truck load full of worthless information that never includes anything useful to the task at hand whenever that task is something that needs to be done around the house. So, I will have to suffer the eye rolls of either Ron Roop, my handyman brother in law, or Chip Hewette, my engineer friend. One of them will soon get a call.

But all of this morning’s electrical failures have been eclipsed by news I just received from my daughter. My grandson is now the size of a banana! In addition, his little feet are the size of the metal tab from a soda can…