Invalid.

Two meanings, two pronunciations.  The first:  INvalid:  a sick or decrepit person.  The second:  inVALid:  something no longer current or useful.

It’s the second I speak of here.   At least for the most part.

It all began with a very important piece of mail, sent to a site in Cleveland, OH.  The small package was carefully addressed and over-nighted by the Mister through the post office.  Three days later, having not been received, it was tracked to a dead-letter box in Columbia, S.C. and marked “undeliverable.”    Address determined to be “invalid.”  It wasn’t, of course.  Invalid, that is.

Shortly after that, there were the insurance cards.  Deemed to be “invalid” by someone, somewhere deep in the bowels of Blue Cross/Blue Shield.    They weren’t, of course.  Invalid, that is.

Then, there was the Bank.  Our very own trusted Bank.  As I attempted to pay my bills in a timely fashion, the password was declared “invalid” by their system.  It wasn’t, of course. Invalid, that is.

Now, there’s the mail.  We haven’t had any in several days.  Nary a flier, a magazine, not even a bill.  Have we, ourselves, become invalid?  Like passwords?   Gone as well as forgotten?

I suggested to the Mister that we look in the mirror and see what we see. Will there actually be a reflection?  Are we but mere ghosts of our past?   Do all those people out there know something we don’t?

We’ve not done the mirror thing quite yet.  I think we’re both a little afraid of what we might see.  Or, rather, what we might NOT see.