It’s 7:30 in the morning of a very overcast day.  As I look across the bay, I’d swear there was a snow storm coming.  (That’ll be the day).  Aore Island just across the bay is disappearing.  In a few minutes it will start sprinkling here.  Then it will rain.  Then Aore Island and the whole bay will disappear as the sky dumps out everything it’s got.  The roads will turn into rivers.  The sun will then come out, and the humidity will soar.  I will start sweating.  In the evening as I prepare for my shower, I will go to Marjorie for help in getting my wet undershirt off.  It’s a two-man job.  (Pity the single elders who have no wives to help them).  I will take my shower, dry thoroughly, wrap the towel around myself, and go sit under the fan in the living room to get dry again.  If I were to try to put a clean undershirt on right after my shower, I’d have to go to Marjorie again to get it rolled down over my still-wet shoulders.  It rolls up back there, and for the life of me, I can’t reach back there to straighten out the knot.

Yesterday I put on a pair of dark slacks and headed out to work.  As I put them on I remember thinking how sharp I’d look that day, because that particular pair of slacks fits so well.  Pride goes before the fall.  Marjorie took one look, and made a dive for me.  “Why do you have all this chalk on your pants?” she asked, as she started brushing vigorously.  “Where on earth did you get into chalk?”

The “chalk” wasn’t brushing off.  It didn’t brush off at all.  Then it suddenly dawned upon us that the chalk was salt—left there after the sweat had dried from the previous wearing.