WHAT A DAY!

It’s a 40-mile-per-hour wind attack in Tucson, Arizona. The trees outside are bending, and the branches are whipping from side to side. Helplessly, I watch the plastic leaves, from the artificial tree on my balcony, fly merrily past my window. There they go!  That tree used to look like the real thing. Now it looks more like a naked stick. I know that my neighbors will look and say;  “ What person in her right mind would put a naked stick on her balcony?  That’s a heck of a decoration!” I admit that I do not have a green thumb nor any garden sense at all. I don’t even have a leaf blower. In the Spring, I will purchase another artificial tree. I think I will ask my neighbor to water it when I leave town. Couldn’t hurt!

If possible, I do not venture out on extremely windy days. Nor do I run around in the rain. Rain is something I like to view from inside my apartment.  On those days, I plan apartment projects. Lucky for me, it doesn’t rain that often, so I don’t have to accomplish too much.

It’s a perfect day to shred tax files from six years ago. I only have room in the box, in my closet, for five years worth of files. So, more than five years of files—“To heck with it!” If the IRS wants to toss an old lady into jail, how much worse can it be than a Covid lock-down? Actually, I really don’t have that much to shred, because most of my beloved deductions have already been shredded by Congress. However, as I am blithe-fully shredding along, my shredder decides to clog—not the shoe dance—but the “Don’t make me eat any more of that paper” dance.

It’s been that kind of a day, and I have had enough!   I unplugged the shredder, got a scissors, and said, “I may never be able to grow a plastic tree, but by-gum by-golly I’m going to unclog you even if I have to shove a laxative into your jaw!” It took an hour and a mess of shredded paper on the floor, but I was victorious—battle weary— but a winner!

Later I signed up to attend a  movie in the Screening Room located near my apartment. Just what I needed—a comedy. I arrived on time, found a good seat, adjusted my mask and waited for the film to begin. After fifteen minutes, the audience was informed that the “stick” wasn’t working, and the movie would be rescheduled.  I offered the “ the stick—on my balcony—that used to be a tree, but was informed that it wasn’t that kind of a stick.

I was left with two choices: I could relax with a good book or watch a really bad television show.  My guilty pleasure, “The Bachelor,” won out.  Remember: Scarlett did say to Rhett, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

Esther Blumenfeld