Sam is off to the gym in his brand new, outlet mall Nike sneakers, only they don't call them sneakers any more. They are bright orange with streamlined soles. With these stylish new kicks, he definitely won't need these cheaters any more. (Who am I kidding? He never needed the chewters, has never ince used them.) Uncle David's white Nike sneakers, which fit fine and look perfectly neutral to me, are apparently old man shoes. This just confirms what I have been thinking: that I am gradually sliding unto ild age.
Not as old as Aunt Donnna and Uncle Gene, however, who have been fooling me for years with their warmth, kindness and ready wit. I have said many times that I aspire to be Aunt Donna when I am 80, with her lovely soft sweaters and pink lipstick and the way she remembers every birthday with a card and a pack of Trident.
Is it just coincidence that landed both of them in the hospital on the same day? I guess when the biological clock approaches - passes - ninety, anything can happen. How lucky that we are here, and that Steve and Joann and John Patrick are arriving today for their Christmas visit. I am sitting at home with congestion and a slight cough and a glass of white wine, boiling potatoes, marinating fish and waiting to hear the prognosis.
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