In this essay, Cynthia Vanasse looks at last year’s events through a humorous lens. Shared Stories is a weekly column featuring articles by participants in a writing class at the Norwalk Senior Center. Bonnie Mansell is the instructor for this free class offered through the Cerritos College Adult Education Program. Curated by Carol Kearns I wish someone would have informed my teeth that they’re too old for a “Coming out Party.” They wouldn’t have listened. Their definition of a party had nothing to do with a good time; it was a scheme to deplete my bank account and teach me that an implant has nothing to do with indoor greenery.
In a similar vein, the tile I installed four years ago decided to join my teeth with a “Coming Apart Party.” Little crumply pieces began to show themselves in the grout. A few of the tiles were working free. A quick call to my contractor proved that getting old is not the only reason for falling apart. My subcontractor did a “lousy job.” Oh well, I’d certainly rather have a bad tile job than a bad dentist!
I guess the tile must have been talking to my ceiling window. This makes sense as the same wonderful subcontractor did this too. After a recent rainfall, my beautiful, expensive, silk rug had been treated to an unauthorized bath. Mashing my teeth, I yelled “help” to the same wizard who fixed the tile.
My best pal, Quincy, decided this was the year to invite me to a “Support Your Vet Party.” He thought Dr. K. needed a new consultation room and that I wouldn’t mind paying for it. He is 13 years old and has troubles far exceeding his teeth.
To make my “Vet Party” even more fun, in his parking lot I crashed into a wall covered with vines; I thought it was a bush. So I invited my body repair expert to join the “Delete Cindy’s Account” bash. By this time, my teeth were beginning to look like “small potatoes.”
Of course, we all have a seat at Uncle Sam’s festive April table. I’ve tried to not accept the pleasure of his company, but my C.P.A. didn’t think this was a good idea. So I again found myself at a “Number Crunching Event.” I think I was also the one being crunched. I added a few dollars to an investment giving Sam the right to deplete dollars from my Social Security. I didn’t find anything social about this.
If you live in California, we are all a part of the “DWW Party” (Don’t Waste Water). Things have become very dry—not as in humor or a drink. I have gritted my teeth and given up gardening. There are no more flowers, vegetables, or green lawn in my life. Long live cacti and succulents!
To top off the year I was asked to an expensive dinner party at a well-known restaurant. My teeth and I were in rapture with thoughts of sinking into wild salmon. The evening did not start off well, as we were ushered through a cozy, intimate setting out to a cold, white tent; this would have been great for Santa.
Things went downhill from there. The salmon didn’t go downhill however; it was from a still-water farm. This fish’s last trip was to our table in all his over-cooked glory. We asked for some mashed potatoes, or anything to give this fish company; we were informed seven dollars would buy mashed potatoes. All of a sudden, the rolls looked better than before. I would call this dinner a “Don’t Return Policy.”
Experience has proved that life is one long party and we are lucky to be a part of the celebration. I can hardly wait for next year’s invitations.
Published: Jan. 1, 2015 - Volume 13 - Issue 38