Slow.

It’s another beautiful day in Upstate New York and today is the first “real” day of 2007. I just got off the phone with my sister and she asked “How is the first day as houseboy?”. Isn’t she humorous. The house is still standing, there hasn’t been any cleaning catastrophes and I haven’t killed any of the smattering of seniors at the grocery store, so all in all I would say it’s been a success. The true test will be to see if Earl survives my homemade spaghetti sauce tonight.

I had forgotten that shopping at the grocery store in the middle of the day is a completely diffferent experience from shopping at night or on the weekend. The pace is a slower, a lot, lot slower. Daytime shoppers are afraid of the new-fangled self-serve checkouts. Those that venture to the self-serve lane are afraid to touch here to start. They need guidance. Cars and carts move in completely random directions. People block aisles to gossip. All that can be seen behind the steering wheel of the randomly moving cars is a pile of hair. The speed limits on the road change by a prescribed formula: take the posted limit, divide it by two and then subtract your age, remove the negative sign and then ignore the result and anyone around you.

Yet, everyone I encountered can live to read my tale. I must be mellowing out or something.

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