SOME THINGS WILL PROBABLY NOT CHANGE IN 2021

While many of us are hoping for a change in tone from the White House in 2021, let’s face it — there probably won’t be any change at all in our quotidian* existence, especially for those of us in our 80s.

In my case that means:

— I will go into the downstairs bathroom to brush my teeth and reach first for the stick deodorant instead of the toothpaste. I wonder if Old Spice is bad for your teeth.

— Opening Listerine bottles will still require concentration and patience. There are arrows on the cap but pushing down and twisting counterclockwise (or is it clockwise?) requires a lot of coordination and seldom do I get all the required steps right on the first try. Caps and tops on all sorts of necessities, including pill and spice bottles, are built to resist easy opening and who ever designed them should get a raise.

— My rush to pop my morning pills down my gullet won’t abate. This means a pill occasionally misses its mark, disappearing onto the kitchen floor where it is not spotted until a week later near the dishwasher.

— I must also eat breakfast in a hurry, judging by the droppings on the floor in the breakfast nook. When the urge hits me or Irene to sweep up the bits of egg, toast and other debris, there is one constant: somewhere in a hard to reach area under the table will be a lone Cheerio. “From out of the past, come the thundering hoof beats of the great horse Silver, the Lone Cheerio hides again.”

— My accuracy from plate to mouth doesn’t improve at dinner. I’ve taken to wearing an apron for my evening meal, saving sweaters and shirts from tomato sauce and chocolate syrup, especially the latter.

— Cleaning up after supper, I will occasionally save a small amount of food. Sometimes Irene has it for lunch the following day. More often it stays in the fridge until …Until you know what.

— I will continue to wear on special occasions — defined as a dinner eaten at the dining room table instead of in front of the TV — a favorite LL Bean shirt, a button-down that has the tiniest button holes in the collar. On Christmas Eve, I spent five to seven minutes on each collar, coaxing my fingers to force each button through the hole. I’m not suspicious by nature, but someone at a shirt factory in Sri Lanka could have decided to have a little fun with an uppity American, and I just happened to be that uppity American.

— Our bedroom has a glow. (Sorry, I hate to brag.) The glow is from various pieces of electrical equipment — a heart monitor for me, a hearing aid charger for Irene. To glow is healthy. When I get up at 4:30 or 1:30 to do what old men do at 4:30 or 1:30 (or both), I don’t need to turn on a light to see my way to the bathroom. The glow from the devices provide just enough light for me to feel my way to and from bed. Those mornings when I make the trip back and forth with my slippers on the wrong feet doesn’t strike me as a big deal.

— In cold and/or snowy weather I will put on my LL Bean winter boots and realize ten minutes later on my morning walk that one lace has come undone. It doesn’t matter how tight I tie the shoe laces one of them is going to get loose.

— While backing the VW Tiguan out of our driveway, I’ll brush a wrong button or two, setting the back windshield flapping away or muting the radio. Recovery time to restore things to normal will take approximately one minute. While I always think all the neighbors saw this display of clumsiness, I tell myself, at least I didn’t set off the horn.

— I’ll continue to have days when I’m stumped by my smartphone or laptop. Although my episodes of butt dialing a kid or grandkid have declined, I’ve developed a habit of not disconnecting the phone properly after a call. One of the younger family members will send a text to point out this failure. As for my laptop, sometimes when I do a Google search every letter I write is duplicated. A search line might read ”iiss iitt ppoossiibbllee tthhaatt GGeeoorrggee SSoorrooss iiss rreessppoonnssiibbllee ffoorr eevveerryytthhiinngg bbaadd iinn tthhee wwoorrlldd?”

— The last thing I do before heading upstairs to bed is to go to the kitchen to turn out a light. There’s really no reason the light was left on, but turning it off gives me an opportunity to grab a handful of peanuts before nightly flossing or to scrounge for something chocolaty — a cookie, a chocolate bar, or even semi-sweet chocolate chips in the fridge, the little devils meant for baking in cookies. Some clichés are true. Old people can never stop talking about food.

Welcome aboard, 2021. Only a few more days before the 2024 campaign for the White House begins. Goody, goody.

*Author’s note: In my many years of writing news copy, essays and letters, I have never written the word quotidian before. I’ve always wanted to and am very proud of myself now.

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