Inappropriate

Back visiting Dad again, realizing that folks in San Diego generally don’t fare well with non-conformity. I was asked to stop bringing fresh organic chicken eggs into the dining room; there’s been talk about my disregard for kosher tradition and how I play favorites with my gifts. It didn’t help that I showed up this time with electric blue hair (it was supposed to be temporary for Halloween but apparently is my new fashion look.) One would think blue hair would have an appeal for old ladies, however 101-year old Ida greeted me saying “you look stupid!” I explained the dye was hanging onto my follicles like lox clings to a bagel. She snorted.

Then I discovered that Shirley, a resourceful person, made my father a hand-sewn clown doll which is supposed to encourage him to smile more often. Yes, a large genuine creepy clown now shares his apartment. We named him Max. Dad isn’t depressed. He tells me every day that “life is good.” He just doesn’t want to spend money to fix a missing tooth, so he parses out his grins.

I narrowly escaped an enthusiastic chat in a doctor’s waiting room about how great it was that Trump would be President – I chose to leave and hide in the garden. I thought everyone at the retirement village would be upset about the election, most residents being intelligent and some having survived concentration camps. Not so much. They have more micro-level concerns about the nightly movie selection and the hotness of their soup. You tell me – is anything appropriate given the events of last week?