If one hasn’t reached the last of Shakespeare’s seven ages—“sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”—traveling can be as pleasurable for senior citizens as it is for younger folk.
The indestructible fridge has just given up its ghost. The balloon posts under dad’s room are sagging mortally. The wooden floorboards under my feet feel softer than usual—could the colony of termites have regained its appetite? All things natural die, finally.
A story making the rounds of seniors has reached me through an uncle, Marquitos Roces, a regular conveyor of such things, and I am thankful for both the laughter and the warning it has brought, and wish now to share it more widely here.—Chit Roces
What is it about weddings that make one all misty-eyed and sentimental? I cry even when I don’t know the people at the altar. It must be the intimacy and drama of the moment.
