The Gift of Time

Today’s radio ad reminded me, “The most valuable gift we are given is: Time.”

Couldn’t agree more. I was careful to arrive at CVS just as they opened, getting my wife’s rush-rush prescription dropped off so that she could begin taking her new medications right on time. I’d be the hero.

“They’ll be ready in an hour and a half,” I was informed. Not the hoped-for 20 minutes.

Redeeming the time, I eventually located and dragged a cashier across the store (only three people working at CVS?) to the cosmetology department. Even with the sample my wife had armed me with, the eyeliner’s location eluded us. She begged off to tend the checkout counter. Like a prizefighter surviving the final round, I finally discovered my trophy eyeliner on the lowest, hidden shelf, at home amidst the dust bunnies.

Holding the eyeliner aloft, I scurried to my distant cashier buddy who had, in the meantime, unlocked the fragrance case for me. “Do you have the Charlie Blue?” I querried.

“No Charlie Blue. Sorry. Try Marshalls.”

I paid for my eyeliner and some blush. It was nearly noon. Surely the prescriptions were ready. I waited in the privacy line. No luck; 45 minutes wasted.

The salesperson at Marshalls gave me a pitiful look. “Haven’t carried Charlie Blue in five years. How about one of our other fine fragrances?”

“It’s for my wife,” I explained. “I’d better stick to it.”

“You’re a smart husband,” she offered.

Down the road, Kohls had a vast fragrance selection, but, “Oh, that’s been around a long time. We don’t carry that any more. How about a Vera Wang?’

Vera Wang got into my bag and into my car.

Three and one-half hours after placing my CVS prescriptions, I again waited in the lengthening privacy line. Again, CVS turned me away. Not ready yet.

Five post-prescription hours later, CVS texted me to return to retrieve my cache of drugs.

When I got home, I presented the two small but prized bottles of drugs to my wife, who didn’t quite lavish upon me the well-deserved praise I believed I had earned. Some acts of heroism are without reward.

The morning’s radio ad returned to me. “The most valuable gift we are given is: Time.”

I had had my sermon for the day.

Dream Machine

Once a month or so, the secretive wrap comes off, revealing our 17 foot, full-color, kaleidoscopic, all-dancing time-traveling dream machine, The Great Escape. Hitching it up to our Toyota RAV4, we take on the great outdoors for Cinemascope RV adventures.

In the ER

In the ER, getting Jackie checked out for possible gall bladder problems. Seeing folks who are suffering is always troubling. In additions to his obvious injuries, this fellow sitting next us had no legs below his knees. So he probably didn’t fall off a ladder. At least, I hope not.