There it
is, available on Amazon, for $9.80, with free two-day shipping for Prime
members. The Retro Edition Magic 8 Ball By Mattel. According to the description
it “has all the answers to all of your most pressing questions!” I’m not sure
what the difference between the Retro Edition and the regular edition might be
other than the price. The regular edition is only $6.81, but does not ship free.
The Tie Dye Edition is pricier at $17.22. Other than package design, they all
seem to be alike, although it is fun to imagine the different answers they
might give – surely the Tie Dye version will answer “Groovy, man” at least
once.
Not to be outdone by Mattel,
KickFire Classics has issued a Magic Trump Ball. I shudder to think what it
answers, but the site mentions that the 20 possible answers include: “You’re
fired.” “Don’t be an idiot.” “Do it. I’ll pay the legal fees.” “Every poll says
yes.” Somehow those don’t seem like the answers I need. Since I love books, a
few years ago when Carol Bolt’s Book of
Answers, a hardback version of a Magic 8 Ball was published, I bought it
immediately. But I’m about to toss it, because it hasn’t given very satisfactory
answers lately, despite the fact that it offers not twenty, but over 150
answers.
What brought on my perusal of
answering devices on Amazon, other than the fact that I’ve always been
fascinated by the silly toy? Too many sleepless nights, or when sleep did come
it was fraught with dreams, almost nightmares, reflecting my restlessness and
indecision. I’m not sure what brings on the restlessness, but over the years
I’ve experienced it several times. Going shopping – buying something foolish,
booking a ticket to Italy, doing something drastic with my hair (yes, I became
a blonde on more than one occasion,) or rearranging the furniture in my house
has usually taken the edge off.
I think it has something to do with the
ticking of my biological clock – not the one about having babies – this clock
is more of a reaction to how fast the years have flown by and the frequent
reminders by someone who tells me often that we are now, in fact, OLD. I have
not been ready to accept that, but comparing my age to that of my parents and
how their lives changed once they were the age I am now has been a sobering experience.
How many years do I have left? Beyond
a guess or estimate, there is no certainty. I know that the years I have left
are a mere fraction in comparison to my current age, and if they go by as
quickly as recent decades have flown by, not long enough. It doesn’t weigh
heavily on me that it is too late to do some things. I’ve been more active in
the past, but I was never particularly athletic or daring, so it doesn’t bother
me at all that it is too late for me to take up bungie jumping, mountain
climbing, snow skiing, or other such pursuits.
However, it is becoming apparent
that I need to move. I love my place, but a few accidents, injuries, or other
concerns have made me realize that I need a one-story dwelling sooner or later
– probably sooner rather than later. Even if I can avoid any more injuries, the
stairs remind me daily that these knees aren’t going to get any younger. I
think I’d like something other than just different walls, but the adventure of
living somewhere that I’ve never lived before. It’s not that I’m unhappy in
Montgomery. Except for a few years I’ve lived here almost all of the last sixty
years.
I’ve pored over the emails a real
estate agent in Fairhope sends me. I’m not sure when I became infatuated with
the idea of moving there, but every time I visit the urge gets stronger. So why
haven’t I done it? Inertia is such a strong force. Laziness is a bad habit. Then
throw in the indecisiveness factor. In addition, such a move requires that the
universe make three things coincide: the right house or condo, the right price,
and the right timing. So far the planets haven’t lined up, Mercury is in
retrograde, or something. The indecision factor outweighs them all. I don’t
even like choosing what to wear each day. I love football season, not so much
for the game and friends gathering to watch together, but because it simplifies
my wardrobe selection: an Auburn shirt with a pair of jeans every Saturday of
the season.
I’ve not been a Punk Rock fan, or of
the group The Clash, but the refrain of their song Should I Stay or Should I Go? keeps running around in my head. Of
course they are singing about a relationship, not relocating, but their
question echoes my quandary. Obviously I’m too old for this to be a mid-life
crisis, but something is eating at me. Ticking clock? One last adventure? The
pull of salt water? As I write this I glance at the quilted art piece hanging
above my desk. It features a quotation from Isak Dinesen, “The cure for
everything is salt water – tears, sweat, or the sea.” But is salt water the
cure for what ails me now?
Maybe I should order that Retro Edition Magic
8 Ball. Amazon promises delivery in only two days. It might answer my “most
pressing question.” And the great thing about the Magic 8 Ball is that if one
doesn’t like the answer, the ball can be shaken over and over until an
acceptable answer is given. If it doesn’t, there’s always the option of hurling
it across the room. I hear that throwing things, although not the best choice,
can alleviate frustration, at least for the moment – until how to repair the
wall becomes the question.
Postscript: I wrote this around September 15, on
September 23 I made an offer on a condo in Fairhope. It was accepted!
No comments:
Post a Comment