Old Age Day by Day May 12,2010

My husband and I drove (well, he was doing the driving) our daughter-in-law to the airport late last night. She's visiting our son and they are off to a huge family wedding as well. So my in-laws from my first marriage were there and we all hugged and wished each other well. One of my big achievements has to be keeping my attachments to my first husband's family, at first for our two kids sakes, then just out of sheer affection and connection. My first husband has been dead close to 30 years, but I love his widow, his son from his second marriage and all my former relatives. I am still South Asian in spirit and Muslim in respect for their values.

But it was a flurry to get our daughter-in-law off on time. She had a long drive to get to us, then she noticed a splinter in her finger, I had to hunt up a needle, we went upstairs and she sat on my bed, where the light was better, she got the splinter out but dropped the needle, then we were both crawling around on my unvacuumed rug trying to find it. No luck, so we used a flashlight. After a few minutes we gave up, rushed downstairs, stuffed the clothes I'd gotten for our son in her huge overweight bag (his books, mainly), and rushed off.

So my husband and I get home at eleven, and commence crawling around the bedroom floor looking for the proverbial needle in a messy bedroom. No luck again. We're thinking about stepping on it in the middle of the night, or the dogs getting it in their paws, but finally my husband vacuums up and still no needle, though a large tube of lip balm was found in the bag. We are going to have to live with that needle somewhere lurking in our sanctuary, waiting to surprise us. I put my clogs by the bed last night, but when I had to pee, rushed in to the bathroom barefoot. But this morning I remembered, and slipped right into them from the bed.

There may be bigger dangers that await me, but right now, that needle is giving me the heebie jeebies. I remember be told a story as a child about an old lady who stepped on a needle, didn't know it, it went up into her heart and killed her. I've never forgotten it, though it was probably all nonsense, and think of that story a couple of times a year to this day. If I could find the kid who told me that story I'd read her the riot act. So if next you see me in combat boots, it's because I'm no longer safe in my own home. The needle awaits my tootsies, and I've got my own homeland security plan.