Rosie’s Her Real Name
Nobody tells you how to grow old- there’s no manual or any examples with all the details you need. It just happens. You have to figure out how to deal with it. I had a pretty, good plan- no, a great plan. I had a flawless plan on how to age well, but perfect doesn’t really exist. I couldn’t plan for everything that happened. Tuesday- it’s a random Tuesday since I’ve retired. The stew I mix in front of me bubbles. I’m not sure what that means. Maybe it’s too hot, or maybe it should be bubbling. I haven’t received much instruction, but it’s been like that since I got here- not this morning, but since I started volunteering. There’s a smell I don’t quite understand. For some reason, I do the unthinkable and try some. Whatever flavor was there, it’s gone now, watered down to probably make it more consumable. I put the spoon back down and now see a brown tint in streaks of the pot, and for a moment I realize why the world puts so much sugar in everything. # The next day I return not