“See you at 2!” reads the text from my hair stylist, Brandee. I’m on the run and notice there is additional wording but I know she’s just telling me how she’s looking forward to seeing me.

“You really need a Croc intervention,” my daughter-in-law says as she surveys my house. “I have them by the doors so I can slip them on when I go outside,” I say. “It’s not like I wear them in public.”

I am up to my knees in mud crusted with hail. I’ve run through all the bad words I know and am well into the second round.

For a moment, everything stops. The dogs freeze, I freeze and the javelina freezes, mid-chomp.

“The dog of the Vikings!” the trainer says as my two Swedish Vallhunds trot toward him. “Have they been pillaging and storming the coast?”

“Everything OK today?” my personal trainer asks, looking me up and down.

Is it a ghost? Or is it some wandering spirit? Do I believe in ghosts?

“You’ll have to give her shots for 10 days,” the reptile vet informs me, holding Myrtle firmly.
Shots? I have to give my turtle shots?

“Why do you have such a big car?” Helga asks as I slide her walker into the cargo area. Born in Germany, she has a voice that could make an SS officer soil his shorts.

My eyebrows used to make me look like Frieda Kahlo long before it was cool to look like Frieda Kahlo. I hated my eyebrows.

Son of a biscuit! The cable is out again! The nice young cable guy was out just last week to fix it and now the stupid TV tells me there’s no connection.

“A sleepover!” I exclaim to my buddy, Susan. Her air conditioner has died in the middle of a Tucson summer so she’s asked to spend a couple of nights with me until it is fixed. Susan’s hubby is in Oregon readying their vacation home so it is just the two of us.

Son of a biscuit! The altar candles go out again. I came to church early to trim the wicks and now they won’t stay lit.

I can hear murmurs from those who have arrived early for the church service. We are Lutherans, so if we’re not early, then we consider ourselves late.

At first, it was cute listening to cheery Disney tunes while I was on hold.

By the time I heard Let’s Go Fly a Kite for the fourth time, I am more than ready to tell Disney where they could stick that kite.

My earphones snugly in place, I prepare to do some serious spring cleaning. The dogs slink into a corner. They cringe as I prepare to belt out Kings & Queens by Ava Max.

“I miss my kids, but I don’t miss cooking for them.” Stella pops a grape into her mouth.

“As soon as my kids got up in the morning, they wanted to know what was for dinner,” I say, signaling the waiter for some more hot water.

“Are all these coats yours?” asks JP, my handyman, as he tightens the hinges on my front closet.

“Yes,” I say. Now that I look at them, there are quite a few--especially for someone who lives in Arizona.

“Why?” he says.

“Well . . .,” my mind scrambles to concoct a reason. “I hate to be cold,” I finally say.

“Does it hurt?” I ask my skin care technician.

She doesn’t answer right away, which should be my first clue.

“I need shelves in my garage,” my mother informs my brother.

I am moving out of my bedroom for a few weeks while the contractor repairs drywall, paints, and discovers new and inventive ways of spending my money.