My parents made me take piano lessons despite my absence of talent because, they said, it would make me popular at parties.
I was popular enough at parties but it had nothing to do with piano lessons. I made friends easily because I really wanted to, I wasn’t shy about intruding myself and I always tried to display kindness, consideration, and a healthy sense of humor.
Most importantly, I always try to not talk too much about myself, but to ask questions about others. And I really strain to avoid talking about my medical problems.
Unfortunately, too many of my widowed pals don’t follow those rules:
1. Joan always gives updates of visits to any doctor. We get details of all her bone replacements, indigestion, skin problems and anything else that pops up.
2. Gerilyn has shortness of breath and irritable bowels. Yes, we get details about that.
I have a couple of things that could be better, but doctors tell me they’re all “age appropriate” so I shut up about them. I accept another friend’s view that as we grow older it’s simply a matter of “patch, patch, and patch.”
So I follow my late brother’s example. When asked how I’m doing, I say, “No complaints. I’m still vertical.”###