Next It Will Be Ads for Dentures

We only got two pieces of mail today. One of them was a Mrs. Field's catalogue...which I momentarily thought of keeping because we received a gift box of Mrs. Field's brownies after our miscarriage and it was a decidedly tasty and unique gift.

But, as I don't have anyone to send a gift like this to at the moment, I quickly disposed of the catalogue in the recycling bin to suppress the urge to thumb through the whole thing, which would inevitably lead me to the chocolate stash in the pantry that I am desperately trying to avoid!

You're probably thinking that I have now sunk to new lows in blogging about my mail (or my chocolate stash in the pantry and/or lack of will power) but, wait, the other piece of mail today was what I really wanted to tell you about.

I opened it after glancing at the front to see that it was addressed to us (which it was).


This is perhaps the strangest, most out-of-place and confusing piece of mail I have ever received.

I did a double take, looked for some kind of letter of explanation, then read the address label again to make sure we didn't get a neighbor's mail.

My husband's name and our address were definitely printed on the front.

No letter of explanation, but on our table now sits a brochure about an assisted living facility. As if the illnesses of last year haven't already followed me into 2011 and made me feel like an 80-year-old, now it's like someone actually thinks I am 80. Maybe they know how often I've been to see a doctor over the last year, or how many prescriptions I've filled at the pharmacy. I can see how that alone would lead one to believe I am in need of assisted living.

Now that I think about it, I would love someone to assist me in living. If they could just come over and do all our laundry, clean our house, iron some clothes and go grocery shopping for me, I'd be a happy camper.

Heck. I they would even make my doctor's appointments for me, pick up all those prescriptions and make sure I take all my pills at the right times every day.

Oh my. Now I really do sound like I'm 80! I'll sign off here before I start regaling you with tales of all my physical ailments.

Except to say that writing this post and looking at that assisted living brochure has made me more grateful that my illnesses are not fatal and I am strong enough to do my own laundry, cleaning and grocery shopping...whether I like it or not. Thank you, Mayberry Gardens, for reminding me of that.