The Appointment that Missed Me, and New York Grandma

Today I had an appointment that missed me. Sometimes, I am the one to reschedule an appointment. This time, the appointment rescheduled on me.

That’s okay.

I was thinking about it as I drove away, mentally adjusting my schedule like one of those little puzzles we used to play with as kids – the square ones with lots of tiny squares inside, and only one or two empty spots – moving and sliding to get the picture to make sense…

I stopped by the vet’s, and got dealt a lesson by a vivacious and quite foul-mouthed senior citizen!

New York Grandma (NYG for short) good-naturedly, but forcefully, made it a point to tell the receptionist how old she really is (“I was born in 1935. My husband survived the holocaust; I ain’t afraid of sh–!”); the receptionist complied with the requisite “no way, you look 60!!”

And it was off to the races.

NYG regaled us all (I now a willing hostage; my business wasn’t finished; add to that, the fact that I am addicted to peoplewatching and can’t resist a natural born story teller) with a tale of 9/11.

Her son Danny is a NYC cop; he was scheduled to go to the World Trade Center on 9-11; she and her husband were driving when they heard the news of 9-11; she went hysterical in the car (“Danny’s gone!! Danny’s gone!!”); she spoke to her other son who reassured her that he was probably alright because he always runs late (“can’t never keep an appointment”); Danny finally called her 7 hours later (“Seven hours later!! Can you believe that?! I let him have it! Blue streak blankety blank blank!!); the blankety blank blanks weren’t blank – she treated us all to the full unedited force of her tongue.

End of story: two weeks later she touched down at JFK, got off the plane (she acted this out for us); Danny was there in full dress uniform with two other of New York’s finest; she slapped him so hard across the face he nearly fell. She then offered to teach me some tricks to use on my kids, the same ones she uses to bring Danny to the floor even now (“He’s 230 and I’m 115, but I still bring him to the floor!”).

I said no thank you.

Danny missed his appointment on 9/11 because he was running late.

Good thing.

Why do we miss appointments? Why do they miss us? Don’t know.

It’s a mystery. But it’s okay. Really.

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