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He’s Turning 90 on His Birthday

I called my Grandmother to wish her a happy Mother's Day.
"He's not feeling too good. He's turning 90 on his birthday. July 18," she said.
"Does he stay active?" I said.
"Well, he hires the lawn out, but he does little stuff around here," she said.
"At least he does not clean the gutters himself anymore," I said.

I hope they are not buying twelve-month certificates of deposit or extended warranties. They do not need a deep freezer for frozen strawberries. They should only buy fresh.
They should not wish for the Cardinals to try to build a team from their farm system. They need them to win now.
He's turning 90 on his birthday.

He was my age in late December back in '63, the year his son and my mother got together, just as the song says. Maybe they were still mourning Kennedy’s assassination and thought they should steal a moment in the back of a ’60 Ford Falcon. But the moment turned into a baby boy and a life together. Then they should have been thinking about my future but they split up anyway in '66.

Her hands do not feel quite right after carpal tunnel surgery last year,
but she chose not to go through therapy afterward.
She was 87 on her last birthday.
Who wants to rehab to recover from surgery at 87? Roll the dice and take your chances. You could go any day now. Why go down trudging to rehab three times a week?

She fell over backwards putting the flag in the holder the next week.
Took a couple of days to get over that.
This I cannot explain, going to the trouble of flying the flag when you're 87. Isn’t patriotism proven by then?

They probably should move out of their house into Rose Lane, where they could have a one bedroom with central air and no maintenance responsibilities. They could have meals on premises and no one would have to cook or go to the grocery store and have a heart attack in the parking lot like that one time. But why go to the trouble of moving when you are turning 90 on your birthday.

Why not just get through the day, this one?
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