Wordzzle Saturday

I'm trying the Wordzzle challenge from Raven's blog again. :)

The words for this week's ten word challenge: parasite, meals on wheels, crows, it's my fault, everything but the kitchen sink, on sale, patriotism, the love of my life, library card, common sense

I never wanted to be a parasite on society, but here I am, one tired, dependent old lady. I don't get out anymore, so the high points of my day are visits from people society pays to come. Our mailman arrives before noon, with his circulars, junk mail and bills. The bookmobile, every Tuesday, enticing us with a bus full of large print to check out with our moth-eaten library cards. At least it isn’t just me. Every day, the three of us old widow-women are waiting outside on our front porches, like crows in a row on the telephone wire, wrapped up in our sweaters against the nip in the autumn air. You’d think we’d have the common sense to wait inside where it's warm, but no, we’ve become slaves to our routines. Each of us has our quirks.

I pick up my binoculars and turn to the left. Ellen’s front porch looks like it holds everything but the kitchen sink. She often has carloads of tourists stop and ask if things hanging there are on sale. Wind chimes and mobiles dangle from every crosspiece or beam. She finished one made of old silverware yesterday, and now tiny pickle forks clank dissonantly against the butter knives and spoons. Ellen doesn’t like my binoculars, she says I am a nosy old spy. I wave, but she doesn’t wave back.

As loud as I can, I call over to Mildred, next door on the right. She's a little deaf, but too vain for hearing aids. “New flag, Millie?” Her husband was a Navy veteran, and she kept both her flagpole and her patriotism, even though he's gone. Today she glares and turns her back to me. I had the love of my life a full ten years longer than she had her husband, and she resents me for it. Not that it’s my fault, you understand. I hadn’t held my Larry’s hand as we walked past her porch to make her jealous, but because those last few years, cataracts made him feel more secure if he held on to me when we shuffled round the block. This morning, I shrug my shoulders at her rebuff, because I know in ten minutes, she’ll forget. Millie doesn't remember things so good anymore.

Here comes the Meals on Wheels volunteer, driving her van around the corner, loaded with those pre-packaged dinners. She had the gall to try to get us to eat our meals together, once, but Millie and Ellen refused. I drag my walker closer, and smile. I like the Meals on Wheels lady. She talks to me.