My Four Setbacks (June 18)

My Four Setbacks—accumulated in just 2 short weeks

These setbacks all relate to the image I present to the world and how the world responded on four separate occasions, twice in Paris and twice in Barcelona. They all relate to aging.

1)   On #69 bus in Paris, a young man offers me his seat. I take it but laugh nervously to my friends. (This is a turning point experience—like being called “Sir” for the first time.)

2)   Metro in Paris. A young father with his toddler son offers me a seat on the Metro. I decline, laughing nervously to him and saying “It’s no problem, thank you very much.

3)   Fundacio Joan Miro in Barcelona—I’m offered the discounted senior admission at the museum devoted to artist Joan Miro. Reed, my same age of 67 years, does not get the same offer till we request it of the museum clerk.

4)  Firebug Café (Barcelona)—a young blonde child sits at the next table of a sidewalk café with his parents, a Finnish woman and her Spanish husband. The child is hungry and looks at our food. I offer him some bread and he calls me “Santa!” Oh well, I have the white hair. Hope I don’t have the jolly waistline.

My Four Setbacks—accumulated in just 2 short weeks

These setbacks all relate to the image I present to the world and how the world responded on four separate occasions, twice in Paris and twice in Barcelona. They all relate to aging.

1)   On #69 bus in Paris, a young man offers me his seat. I take it but laugh nervously to my friends. (This is a turning point experience—like being called “Sir” for the first time.)

2)   Metro in Paris. A young father with his toddler son offers me a seat on the Metro. I decline, laughing nervously to him and saying “It’s no problem, thank you very much.

3)   Fundacio Joan Miro in Barcelona—I’m offered the discounted senior admission at the museum devoted to artist Joan Miro. Reed, my same age of 67 years, does not get the same offer till we request it of the museum clerk.

4)  Firebug Café (Barcelona)—a young blonde child sits at the next table of a sidewalk café with his parents, a Finnish woman and her Spanish husband. The child is hungry and looks at our food. I offer him some bread and he calls me “Santa!” Oh well, I have the white hair. Hope I don’t have the jolly waistline.

Travel Day-- 6/18/17

Labels— Barcelona, Paris, Joan Miro, Firebug Cafe