Kick Ball for Seniors

Happening upon a gang of four year olds beating the heat playing kickball in her apartment building garage, Jeanne decided to join in. One swift kick later she’d landed on her ass. With her left wrist beneath said caboose. Now she’s sporting a soft cast as she runs errands and nurses her husband (our father) Bob. Actually, playing with little kids is straight out of Daddy’s playbook, so it was a surprise to hear that Mah had taken up his sporting style. (n.b.: I do not mean that our father was inappropriate with children, only that he missed his true calling as a Camp Director, baseball cap and whistle on a neckchain included.)

Her, shall we say, unusual driving style earned her the nickname “Mrs. Magoo” years ago, but I can only begin to imagine the havoc she’ll wreak maneuvering one-handed through the mean streets of Hackensack, N.J. Sassafrass, who in a display of environmental consciousness has refused to learn to drive, recently was Jeanne’s passenger around and about Bergen County. “This is not a stop sign” and “This is a stop sign” became Sassy’s heart pounding refrains.

I shudder to think what’s next. I know Jeanne imagines herself to be an Aging Ingenue, with the accent on aging. Next month she hits the big 8-0. She is ever young in spirit. I just hope she’ll give her body a rest now and again.


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