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The Condos at the end of the Cul-de-Sac
“See you at the mail box,” I say to my friends when we speak on the phone. Neighbors we are, one on my left, one on my right, three widows, with me in the middle sharing a condo wall with each. The Merry Widows. Or we were.
a little tipsy
senior decorum slips
with a bawdy tale
Lunches, dinners, shopping. Impromptu gatherings for coffee with freshly baked cookies. All that was before. Before our advanced years and vulnerability made us cautious, made us retreat and pull back, keeping our contacts to the essentials. We keep in touch by phone and emails, gripe, worry, encourage. On occasion we meet outside at the mailboxes, short meetings, voices raised so as to hear words spoken at a distance and through a mask.
“What’s new? Saw the doctor. Ordered online. Catch you tomorrow.”
It’s not enough, but we endure and hope. I collect my mail and retreat, but with a lighter step.
slow cooker
for one or a dozen
it’s about the wait
FAILED HAIKU
7 comments:
Your life sounds a lot like mine! I comb my hair and put on lipstick when I see the mail truck. Lots more people are walking the circle this year. We call it doing the social loop.
my cloth order came
time to start summer sewing
and flowery masks
Hi Sandy,
Someday. . .we shall look upon this and not laugh, but just be thankful it's over
adelaide
True, but I have say that I laughing as I read this!
pandemic passing
I ask my wife again
what day it is
One day at a time, whatever day it happens to be.
Blessings, Adelaide
Thanks, Bill. Blessings to you, too.
Adelaide
Ooooh!
__ Haibun-tifull: again, your thoughts so often parallel the reader's wonder! _m
Thanks, Doug.
Adelaide
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