I spoke on the phone with a friend of mine, Saturday. She complained of a sore knee, the result of a long walk across a soccer field, carrying a chair to a location that promised a good view of her granddaughter who in her mind understandably, was the star of the team. As our conversations of the events of our day were exchanged and as I listened to her complain whenever she changed positions in that big recliner chair, I realized that I had better go fix dinner for her. Had I been a little less pushy about this idea I would have stopped and purchased a foot-long sub and a pint of ice cream

Now, I should report that Betty is the epitome of Ladylike demeanor and rarely even hints at raising her voice unless provoked for more than 27 minutes. I made it to thirty minutes once and barely escaped a virtual beheading.

As I began to work, this 5 foot eleven inch, statuesque, Jehovian work of art grew another four inches and began the journey from chair to kitchen, lending a more obvious definition to the word “Hover”. She did not need to raise her voice; her presence sufficed to make clear the point, that this kitchen was her domain. I wondered as I worked, if I was as possessive of my own kitchen whenever she or others visited my home for dinner. I went to the table to pull a chair to the edge of the kitchen to give her knee a rest as she held court. She refused my help and using the chair as a walker, edged it toward the kitchen, finally resting at a point at least two feet nearer the stove than I had originally visualized.

There were no cross words. It was as though we realized that we were not there specifically to entertain but to respect each other and that the turn of events that made this particular evening necessary was to be remembered as we each did our part to make the occasion a success. .

The moment soon came for me to meet the challenge to hold my tongue. Betty  told me to turn down the heat on the potatoes. Okay. I nodded my head and agreed with my friend that water doesn’t boil any faster at 300 degrees than it does at 212. And, under my breath I grumbled. I couldn’t imagine why she would assume that because water doesn’t boil any faster at 300 degrees, that it also doesn’t cook any faster at higher temps. I am  often of the belief that the only time Betty uses her reasoning abilities is to challenge those faculties in others. And since my friend has heard from me often enough as have all my friends, that “reason must prevail” and since Betty places more value on Rules than on Reason, I kept that last morsel of momentary madness to myself. And I said to myself “blah blah blah blah blah”.  I wonder what she’s been saying to herself. Probably “blah blah blah blah blah”.  For that matter I wonder what she is saying on her own blog. “blah blah blah blah blah”.


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