Dear Maria,
Greetings from
Giddylandia—windows open and every knockout, front and back, shows new growth.
Loropetalum should be blooming full out next week. As for Daylight Savings….
I forgot to tell you about
one of those ridiculous internet quizzes I took a few weeks back. Yep, I know I
swore them off after one too many Disney princess quizzes—Jasmine, by the way.
What can I say? And the whole slew of them really so that apparently in some
other worlds I am Elizabeth Bennet, Camus, Gandalf, or a bear.
My lapse was with a
prediction for age of death from a site going for eerie. Trust me, I provided
the appropriate head slap after the fact. Ready? My age at death was predicted
to be 109. Yep, 109. I laughed at first and then spent the next week horrified by
the idea when it came to mind.
My first take was wondering
who the heck would I be talking to. And then who the heck would be talking to
me.
Of course, only if my mind
is still intact. As if I would know otherwise.
Retired for 50 years. Wow.
I’ve had friends here for 30
years, nearly. That means I could meet someone at 89 and have him or her as a
friend for 30 years.
Will make showing up for the
Duluth East Class of ‘71 reunion in 2061 interesting.
Wonder what the sea levels
will look like.
Wonder if child poverty rates
here and in the world will be much changed.
The elms I planted out front
will be 50-year-old trees. The Cleveland pear most likely won’t survive much
past 2035.
Pythons in Okefenokee?
Maybe I’ll save my books
after all, and then I can open a museum.
Wonder how many great great
grand nieces and nephews I will have.
Did I tell you the last
letter was the 70th? Let’s
see, you will be a girl in your 90s. Only 2500 more to write.
No more quizzes. Ignorance
is bliss, after all.
Yours until time stops, srk
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