It’s like life …


… you just jump in somewhere.

I fell asleep last night thinking “Two more dayszZzzzz.”  Yes, kids, this Thursday morning the finish work on the skin graft will happen and the stitches at the inner and outer corners of my eye will be released and life will go on.  Just like that.  Moment of silence, please, while I pay homage to the preceding two months that passed in spite of me.  Thank you.

So … as I was saying, anything can derail us from writing.  It’s a challenge for me to stay focused on the best day, and because I’m a pansy-ass I have to say that the past sixty days or so, taken in their entirety, will not make my “best” list.   Parts of them were excellent, of course … but I digress.

The eye thing is turning out to be a bit of a watershed event (one in a continuing series) in ways I’m still figuring out.  At first it was the teensiest bit scary, and then it was painful, and then it was, and still is, just a nuisance.  It knocked me off my writing rocker, but lonnng since I could see in stereo again I’ve just hung around down here on the floor hoping nobody would notice.  The horse waits …

My dearest, sweetest, most wonderful, funniest, very possibly smartest WordPress/Facebook/Real True Friend Cristy Carrington Lewis triple-dog challenged me to a write-off, first poster wins.  This is me posting but I hope she wins, she’s so precious.  Go say hello at http://paltrymeanderings.com.  She answers to Miss Snarky Pants and she writes a “Humor Blog for Horrible People.”  I ❤️ her.

Here’s to you, darling girl.  Much success as you travel through the blogosphere, and not only in besting silver-haired adolescent seniors (my truth is safe with you, no?) … but in making your mark, of course.

dead and rotten

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Really? Are you kidding me?

See the post before this one?  Okay … GUESS. WHAT. DAY. IT. IS!!  Yes.  Again.

So it may or may not have been a somewhat challenging week in which whimpering, bitching, and one hugh-jass meltdown happened.  Pretty sure there was an afternoon where somebody cried for two or three hours and totally freaked out her husband and fluffy little dog.  The upside is that the eye — the sumbish in our story — actually felt better afterward, so there’s that.

The days have slipped by and the weather outside has gone from cold to warm to cold again.  We’re hibernating … but ready to be sociable.  Not today so much, because it’s snowy and wet and feels like 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and what you hear me saying is that unless you’re coming to our house we won’t be seeing you yet, because the fireplace is just too nice, and Maddie and I are snuggled at my desk with the divine little radiant heater Kim got us today, the same Kim who’s adorably zoned out “watching” TV …  and we’re just not leaving, you can’t make us leave.

It’s gray here, and cold.  I’m glad that never lasts.  Grass and leaves and sunshine always feel slow coming back, just like health and well-being, but it all gets here, and mostly on time.

Coming back.  Might even be back again tomorrow …

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Holy cow, it’s HumpDay again! Already!!

How does this happen??

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Tuesdays are so weird …

As I was falling asleep last night I said to no one in particular, since I’m pretty sure Kim was down for the count, “This is going to turn around tomorrow — it will stop hurting so I can stop whimpering.”

Oh, I do adore being right!  I can haz gud day!!

Yesterday, though, I didn’t get back here with a recipe, did I.  You knew that would happen.  Screw it, let’s do something different.

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THERE’s a thought that will carry me through an entire day!  Plus the sun is shining, and Maddie’s keeping marauding dogs away from our 4th-floor windows, and Kim’s finishing his gorgeous painting project in the next room.  Apparently I’m still too young to die, so I’m gonna get on with living today.  Make it an amazing Tuesday in your world, and come talk to me about coping mechanisms.

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On a sunny Tuesday afternoon in January …

So tell me you’ve been finding every opportunity to dance since last week — it’s such a good habit to get into!  By dance I mean sparks of any sort inside the person that is you.  You give your heart permission to feel not just okay, but fabulous, even if it’s only a hit-and-run, and should it leak out your fingers and toes, by all means … make rhythm out of it.

It’s a bits & pieces Tuesday.  Here’s a glorious bit that Mary Oliver wrote about her partner of forty years, Molly Malone Cook, that makes my heart dance.  “The dance” is often The Blues …

“She was style, and she was an old loneliness that nothing could quite wipe away; she was vastly knowledgeable about people, about books, about the mind’s emotions and the heart’s. She lived sometimes in a black box of memories and unanswerable questions, and then would come out and frolic — be feisty, and bold.” 

I love that so much.

And these two pieces made my brain boogie today …

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Is it just me or is there a connection in all these jangly bits?    Seriously, anything’s possible when your brain dances with your heart.

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I don’t remember dancing …

Did we dance on Tuesday?  I don’t think we danced on Tuesday …

It isn’t an insignificant omission, is the thing.  Because life really IS a dance and if we let the silliness fall off our cracker even once, we could be setting ourselves up for a lifetime of resting bitch face.  Yeah, see, we meant to have fun but we forgot.  And then our faces got bored with smiling and now we feel powerless to, you know, like, fix any of that.

Seriously.  Okay, the rules have changed then — we’ll just dance ANY old day and preferably EVERY day, and even if we happen to forget once in a while, RBF won’t have time to set in!  It’s important, and I’m thinking this could be a breakthrough.  Register your opinion in comments!

 

beautiful story

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Dear Diary,

It’s been a jumbled week since I last sat here with you, my un-judgy alter ego, and you aren’t the only one I’ve neglected.  Three straight days of seeing doctors from Wichita to Kansas City, helping a friend get moved, no in-house wifi all weekend, feeling behind on all my projects BECAUSE I AM, trying to keep chilblains from claiming my extremities (because sometimes I have to step away from the fireplace), it’s been grueling.  I can’t even get my head wrapped around it enough to describe it to you.  I might as well just sign off and go look for a recipe.

Back later, of course … because you’re the only one who actually gets me.

x0x0x

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HumpDay Drivel

Yesterday was a little crazy-making and today is a deep-freeze.  Applying coffee, a hot shower, and M&Ms, and trusting that the immediate world will right itself before day’s end.  Snuggle up, kids, might as well make the best of another HumpDay!

So an attorney and a senior citizen are sitting next to each other on a long flight.  The lawyer’s thinking that older people are so out of touch he could easily get one over on this guy.

He asks the retiree if he’d like to play a fun game.  The guy’s tired and just wants to take a nap, so he politely declines and tries to catch a few zzz’s.

The lawyer persists, however, saying that the game is too much fun to miss out on.  “I ask you a question, and if you don’t know the answer, you pay me only $5.00.  Then you ask me one, and if I don’t know the answer, I’ll pay you $500.00,” he says.

This catches the man’s attention so to keep the annoying passenger quiet he agrees to play the game with him.
The attorney asks the first question.  “What’s the distance from the Earth to the Moon?”
The senior doesn’t say a word, just reaches into his pocket, pulls out a five-dollar bill, and hands it to the lawyer.

Now it’s the older guy’s turn. He asks the lawyer,  “What goes up a hill with three legs, and comes down with four?”
The lawyer googles everything he can think of but can’t find the answer.  He sends e-mails to all his smart friends, to no avail.
After an hour of searching, he finally gives up.  He wakes his fellow traveler and hands him $500.00.

The senior pockets the $500.00 and goes right back to sleep.
The lawyer is going nuts now, not knowing the answer.  He wakes the guy up again and asks, “Well, so what DOES go up a hill with three legs and come down with four??”

The weary older guy reaches into his pocket, hands the lawyer $5.00, and goes back to sleep.

(Shared by my friend and fellow old person, Rudy Loewen)

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Life in the unicorn nursery …

Today we get the pathology on my eyelid biopsy and find out where it goes from here — nowhere, or back for more carving.  Either way, we dance — it’s Tuesday.  Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, if anything potentially negative is coloring your day, focus on the unicorns!

UnicornsFrolicking

 

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Still thinking about the year ahead …

Journeys

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A story for the new year …

Dandelion_wine

 

 

Μaybe old people were never children, like we claim with Mrs. Bentley, but, big or little, some of them were standing around at Appomattox the summer of 1865. They got Indian vision and can sight back further than you and me will ever sight ahead.”

“That sounds swell, Doug; what does it mean?”

Douglas went on writing. “It means you and me ain’t got half the chance to be far-travelers they have. If we’re lucky we’ll hit forty, forty-five, fifty. That’s just a jog around the block to them. It’s when you hit ninety, ninety-five, a hundred, that you’re far-traveling like heck.”

The flashlight went out.

They lay there in the moonlight.

“Tom,” whispered Douglas, “I got to travel all those ways. See what I can see. But most of all I got to visit Colonel Freeghleigh once, twice, three times a week. He’s better than all the other machines. He talks, you listen. And the more he talks he gets you to peering around and noticing things. He tells you you’re riding on a very special train, by gosh, and sure enough it’s true. He’s been down the track, and knows. And now here we come, you and me, along the same track, but further on, and so much looking and snuffling and handling things to do, you need old Colonel Freeleigh to shove and say look alive so you remember every second! Every darn thing there is to remember! So when kids come around when you’re real old, you can do for them what the colonel once did for you. That’s the way it is, Tom, I got to spend a lot of time visiting him and listening so I can go far-traveling with him as often as he can.”

Tom was silent a moment. Then he looked over at Douglas there in the dark.
“Far-traveling, you make that up?”

“Maybe yes and maybe no.”

“Far-traveling,” whispered Tom.

“Only one thing I’m sure of,” said Douglas, closing his eyes, “it sure sounds lonely.”

(Ray Bradbury, “Dandelion Wine”, 1946)

… grateful to my friend Angela Petraline for sharing

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Saying hello to the new year …

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Ranting about thankfulness on HumpDay …

Didn’t feel like losing it over anything on Monday, so you got a break.  Love it while you can because that’s over in 4 … 3 … 2 …

So Monday was okay, as I recall.  Tuesday afternoon we’re tootling along Hwy 10 when the tootle goes away.

Kim sits, hands on wheel, just long enough to assess how and why and mutter “F*ckin’ embarrassing” before he starts walking.  Li’l Truck inhaled the last of the fumes about a quarter of a mile short of an exit, beyond which there is rumored (according to the sign) to be a service station, but just before Kim gets to the exit ramp somebody in a big black truck pulls over, picks him up, and drives away.

Which, after the shortest, most obscure Monday Rant you are likely ever to hear from me, brings us to Thankfulness Tuesday.  Because yes, there was a service station just beyond the exit ramp.  WAS.  Extinct and crusty.  Enter Ric, driving back to KC after the cold burial of a much-loved friend.  Spots my husband strolling along the highway, hunkered against the chill, a heavy coat, stocking cap pulled over most of his face, imposing enough man that you’d notice, and of course pulls right over.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ric.  Ric isn’t a big guy, but he sticks in your mind that way.  He repairs heavy equipment and does pipeline work, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t afraid of much, but his kind heart is a lot bigger than all that.  He insists on driving back down the 4-lane to get the Madster and me, carts us all back the other way to where the service station really IS, then west one more time where he uses his new truck to shield Kim from Highway Harm while he pours gas in the tank.  And yeah, then follows us back to the same service station so he knows for sure we made it, and tells Kim to give that piece of green to somebody who’s looking for it.

But wait, there’s more.  Kim’s a good mechanic, knows a lot about a lot.  For instance, he’s known since he bought the truck that it needs a new sending unit for the gas gauge, and probably a new fuel pump while you have the tank dropped, but since he doesn’t have a place to do his own work anymore and hasn’t loved the estimates he’s gotten, he’s just gradually developed a little system.  The system failed yesterday.  But only so we could start getting acquainted with Ric, and so he could offer to replace the unit for parts at his cost, plus labor.  Helps him, lets my husband win.  Think it’s gonna happen.

Also it’s HumpDay AND New Year’s Eve.  Do with that what you will, kids.

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We wish you a Merry Day-After-Christmas …

My blog just texted me that it was lonely.  (And it spelled out each word because it’s, you know, my blog.)  I feel awful — less than 24 hours after the kindest, splooshiest day of the year I wander off and forget the ones who mean the most.

But I’m back with a vengeance, launching bizarrely-benign torpedo-thoughts … configured sort of like my old paper airplanes … into what’s shaping up to be 2015.  For my Faithful Facebook Friends, today’s post will be an instant rerun.  Whatevs — can’t get there today, hope you didn’t have to work either!!  (And sorry, because I know some who did.)

Blessed

I Share

 

 

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Christmas Eve 2014

 

ChristmasEveFrameKeep it sweet, share the love.

 

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