Playing for Time

Just another manic Monday…

27 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

***

For the past few years, most days have seemed at least 36 hours long, with more blank-feeling time than I knew what to do with. In my new gung-ho “let’s do ALL the things” mode, I signed up for two KU classes and whatever daily system I had left is already shot to hell. That’s okay, it’s not yet obvious to the naked eye so we’ll survive, and I was getting pretty tired of all that perfection anyway. Oh, I laugh.

This afternoon will be the second of my three “Invitation to Poetry” classes, and it’s gratifying to realize how much I’m looking forward to it. Tomorrow morning will be more Kansas history, and maybe one day this week I’ll have the energy to clear a wider path in our big Everything closet. I’ve managed to create enough chaos in that space, I either need to finish it ASAP or just call “College Hunks Hauling Junk” and make a clean break.

Moral support helps everybody, the more the better, and by reaching out you just might save a life.

Not every source of support proves to be this trustworthy… but never stop be-leafing.

… even when bitterly disappointed by the discoveries you make along the way.

However distracted we might be, we can’t afford to lose sight of what matters:

Have an astounding and properly-astounded Monday!

Image by Judy Smith

As the world turns…

21 Mar 2023 4 Comments

***

We have crossed the spring equinox and claimed the far banks of the Rubicon, so there’s no going back now, right? Winter’s finished, right? This morning’s rain is entirely made of springtime, am.I.right? Just say yes, I’m ready for the great outdoors in all its friendliness, aren’t you?

The first day of spring was also first day of school for this girl. I registered for two KU Osher Institute classes for seniors, one of which meets two blocks away, the other on campus, and the first 2-hour session was yesterday. I think there were thirteen of us boomers in the room, including the retired professor teaching the class, and the atmosphere was lovely. This one is called “An Invitation to Poetry” and seems to be everything I’d hoped it would be… comfy room, congenial people, teacher who knows his stuff in all the best ways. Twice he made tears pop into my eyes when he read lines from poems I didn’t know but want to, and he doesn’t even seem the type. I’d have guessed he taught history or the sciences, not the arts… and possibly the best part of all is the genuine love of subject that immediately comes through.

It was a happy start, and this morning I’ll begin a class called “Pioneering Stories from the Settling of Emporia and Lyon County, Kansas.” I chose this one because that’s where my grandma grew up, in a dugout/soddy/clay/stone challenge of a dwelling that included space for the livestock. She was born in 1889 and hard times accompanied most everything in her life, but she survived and thrived to the age of 96, a personal goal of mine. I’d never knock the living conditions, but neither do I want to try that mode at this point… it wasn’t for sissies:

Photo taken during a visit by family in the 1950s or so, the homestead having been abandoned long before.

So for three consecutive Mondays and Tuesdays I get to be a student again, and it feels excellent to be back in that quietly invigorating atmosphere. And yes, I’m scouring the course listings for anything else that might spark new synapses because this morning’s dose of NE Kansas history was intriguing and I’m ready for more. In two hours we covered the years from when Kansas was still a territory, to Quantrill’s reign of terror, including the (at least) thrice burning of the town of Lawrence. We aren’t Bleeding Kansas for nothing… it bought us the privilege of being Free Kansas, a heritage worth fighting for.

I saw the following piece of advice yesterday, have made a similar folder, and will tuck this graphic inside along with any and all encouragement that shows up in my life in coming days. That stuff’s precious and should be kept in a warm dry place at all times.

Now that spring’s officially here, it’s time to get back to making each consecutive day just a little better than the one before, so…

Image by Judy Smith

Hello Friday…

17 Mar 2023 1 Comment

***

Fridays will always hold a special place in my heart because they signal the arrival of Saturday and Sunday, the two days when I do even less than on the other five but suffer zero guilt for it. Over a lifetime I earned my weekends, and once they’re yours, they’re yours, so I squander them freely whenever possible.

This morning dawned bright and sunny, despite the fact that we had a mini-blizzard overnight. Precisely as the KU v Howard bball game tipped off, while it was still daylight and 58° outside, the air became filled with sideways snow. Slightly bizarre, but so very Kansas. Most of it made it to Amarillo by morning, but the grassy areas are still white, melting fast.

A Happy St. Paddy’s Day to one and all, says the girl in the lime(rick) green T-shirt bearing the word “sláinte” and a shamrock, gifted to her by her baby sister. Life is good, right here, right now. Celebrate and enjoy!

St. Patrick’s Day strikes me as an ideal occasion for bravery and self-certainty, because how else have the Irish survived? I’m proud and happy to claim a dose of emerald DNA from my mom’s dad… that heritage and my German stoicism have brought me this far and I trust will not fail me at this late date.

A complete poem in one sentence, and can we not all say the same in total honesty? It’s what’s meant by the solitariness of being human and it seems to be largely unavoidable.

Another precisely-stated bit of poetry:

Speaking from personal experience, never mistake small stature and a quiet demeanor for weakness or ignorance, otherwise, in the wise words of our ancestors, the road will eventually rise up to meet your face. That’s what all the little leprechauns want you to have as your takeaway today, don’t disappoint them. And easy on the green beer.

An appropriate slice of melancholy before I let you go enjoy your day and your weekend:

Image by Judy Smith

Freeing up head space…

13 Mar 2023 2 Comments

***

Feels like it’s time for a chummy conversation about what’s real… authentic, legitimate, valid… in the human realm. We spend so many brain cells and waste so many minutes either overthinking everything or actively ignoring obvious truths, we’d do ourselves a service by occasionally lifting the lid and airing out the ductwork. As a writer friend counseled me last week, “Let it out.” Sometimes we get so tied in knots by life, it’s tricky but crucial to get loose to the point of really seeing ourselves again.

Female types the world over, except those who didn’t hear about it, held a celebration last week on Wednesday. We were allotted an entire day to remember and honor women, those incomprehensible creatures without whom the planet can’t survive. An International Women’s Day, think of it. It’s a reminder to stand where no one else will, and to reject the load of “NO” that was assigned to us somewhere along the line.

In order to be honest women, there are things that can’t be of prime importance to us. The same holds true for honest men, but we’ll talk about that on International Men’s Day. What’s that, you didn’t know? It is indeed a designated observance, but no organized celebrations issue forth from it, probably because it would look like unseemly overkill, but that’s just me. Whether you’re an acknowledged feminist or an incel, anyone who’s lived female-adjacent knows the world keeps a LIST, with which it stamps a big CANCELED across a lot of otherwise happy celebrations and personal objectives.

To which I say SCREW THAT and I’m thankful to be with a man who feeds all of me.

We know that we are neither made nor broken by the things that happen to us, but rather by our response to each of those events; thus, there’s a truth in there that has to be looked in the eye: Sometimes the worst things that happen outside our control also come bearing gifts, and STAY WITH ME BECAUSE THAT SOUNDS LIKE BLASPHEMY. I’m no longer an “Everything happens for a reason” kinda girl, and I can’t suspend disbelief long enough to be thankful for bad, awful, heartbreaking things, please know that. Despite overwhelming odds, however, I’m still a Pollyanna who looks for a discarded pack of bar matches in every dark alley, and there’s usually a dry one left somewhere. Our most devastating and challenging times can contain hope if we keep our hearts open. They have the capacity to uncover ugliness we need to be aware of, in ourselves or other people. Bad times can reveal where change is long overdue, and sometimes provide the impetus to make those changes. We can’t be part of solving problems we don’t know about, so a little awareness in confusing times goes a long way. I could go on, but you know there are other ways of turning unfortunate circumstances to your good.

A quiet thanks this morning to the men we live with, love, care for, befriend, exist among, for understanding as much as they can, and for wanting to even more.

That’s a lot to celebrate, I don’t care who you are.

Image by Judy Smith

OMG, look at the time!

11 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

***

We’re nine days from spring and the rain we need for the greening of NE Kansas has been showing up. So sweet and benign, all the soft water from the sky, and we hope it stays this friendly since Kansas weather is nothing if not unpredictable.

Of course, tonight’s the big night… it’s time to spring forward an entire hour and spend the rest of the year searching for that lost jigger of salt. Don’t forget.

The lost hour symbolizes every trauma, whether infinitesimal or overwhelming, we’ve sustained over the past however-many years now. We’ve lived through scary illnesses that had to be handled on our own because PANDEMIC. We lived through said pandemic… so far. We’ve survived cockamamie politics; over-the-top injustice; incomprehensible cruelty; the abject hatred of our fellow man; and every other thing that’s part of the human experience. Here we stand, damaged, wounded, but ever hopeful for better days. We’re pitiful but we’re all we’ve got, boys and girls, so hold hands and keep taking new territory. Trauma’s most powerful enemy is truth – use it at every opportunity.

Speaking of trauma… my new friend Erica and I worked on rooting out some more of it yesterday in my second hour-long massage. Her amazing hands know where pain lurks and she’s fairly merciless already… hurts so good, can’t wait to go back.

Small psychic traumas are gradually resolving as well, including a sense of rootlessness and lack of purpose. At some point after the lifelong nerve pain disappeared, my brain started working on the problem of “Okay, who am I NOW? I can finally do pretty much what I want… what’s that going to look like?” After a few months’ rumination on that question, it came to me one day not long ago that at 75 I don’t have to go out and reinvent myself in order to pay my dues as a resident of the planet. I already HAVE a life, here in this smallish space, that requires my involvement and TLC, and could take up most of my time if I wanted it to. This is good. I’m home. Having said that, I’ll be branching out a teensy bit in a couple of weeks, so stay tuned.

Everything that happens to us feels like such a big deal at the time because we’re hothouse flowers with intense feelings, so it takes time and perspective for our personal traumas to start turning loose of us. Sometimes we like them too much, which complicates the whole thing. Those hurts and slights and terrifying wounds tend to validate our existence, so they feel like our buddies rather than the thoughts and memories that will eventually paralyze us and shorten our lucid days.

I take Sir Winston to heart…

“This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.” (whomever/whatever you perceive that enemy to be)

Above all, never lose sight of this befuddled truth, brought to you by the Society for the Proliferation of Crap Platitudes.

Image by Judy Smith

Rain, rain, love you, mean it…

08 Mar 2023 4 Comments

***

It’s a Day in the Doldrums, silent outside, fog hanging in the trees, everything a little drippy and chill. This is the kind of day that lifts me right out of the muck because its expectations are clearly bottom-basement, causing me to feel no pressure to meet anybody’s standards but my own. So, inspiration having been recognized, we’ll see how it all plays out today. As a precautionary measure, a hint to any and all who wander into my space:

Simple perfection, is that too much to ask?

As the planet continues to be a cockamamie place to live, my intention every day, after that first savory taste of coffee, is to de-stress in all the ways open to me. To allot the first hours of the day to positive thoughts and a mental list of “foment progress” bullet points. To let the day’s headlines, good, bad, or ridiculous, stew in their own juices for a few hours before trying to sort truth from fiction. There are a lot of big stories I’ll probably never read or absorb in any detail… the Murdaugh murders, the Iowa campus killer, the Theranos thing, countless others… because it’s a lot of stuff I don’t need to know about. It’s extraneous angst… it isn’t that I don’t care, I care too much about things I have no power over. At some point we have to be afforded the means to bring about change, or else bury the compulsion and stop looking at it. These days I opt for peace in most situations, perhaps more than my share, because the “pick your battles” admonition means nothing to a feeler… they’re ALL ours, unless we turn them over to someone better equipped to win. You can’t win ’em all, and that’s a lesson straight from life.

For old and young alike, the world just IS a crazy place… unpredictable, unfriendly, uncontrollable… and the inherent frustrations are very efficient at producing anger, the monster that destroys us. Anger is self-feeding because it draws from an endless array of sources and is a master of disguises. Sometimes we think the heaviness of anger in our spirit is depression, but no, not yet, it’s still a simmering cauldron and needs to be dealt with STAT. Very destructive, that simmering rage… soothe it with honesty, love, and understanding, ASAP.

A big challenge as the years and experiences accumulate, is that of keeping our hearts soft in the face of an uncaring environment. Feelers rack up every event until we’re full of shards on the inside and sheathed in tungsten on the outside. Fortunately, life marches through on the regular and plows everything up for us, no crustiness allowed, get back in the game, keep that heart tender in spite of the odds, and insist on being your own weird self every damn day, including this one.

I only share these things with you because they’re vitally important and it’s taking me a lifetime to learn them. The simplest facts about being human are the hardest to master, so hints are good, right? I share stream-of-consciousness because I know there are other people out there… and some of you are dear friends… who experience all of life on a personal first-hand feel-everything basis and don’t always know what to do with that… just like me. It’s a colossally lonely feeling, so maybe we should stick together… you know, inasmuch as angsty introverts are capable of doing. I know you’re there… I feel your heart.

Image by Judy Smith

Feeling the love…

06 Mar 2023 8 Comments

***

For humans who feel everything, every tiniest thing, there are days on end too dark for words. And then the sun breaks out again and some of those humans feel a little sheepish about all the inner angst. Oh well. That’s just how it is, and hello sunshine. I’ll play nice if you will, world.

Things you learn along the way:

Staying childlike, that’s the trick…

I rolled up on this during my coffee reflections this morning, and felt it deep. Just one would lend legitimacy to this steady stream-of-consciousness…

Image by Judy Smith

A random Thursday…

02 Mar 2023 2 Comments

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A weekend state of mind settles down upon #lfk by 5pm on any given Thursday, providing a quasi-4-day chunk of R&R out of every seven. Something about bars, restaurants, sports, and living in a university town guarantees this laid-back state of mind and I take to it like a duck to water, if mostly as an observer.

It’s a happy week here, with our Jayhawk boys winning the basketball conference title for the 20th time in the league’s 24-year existence. Their statistics are off the charts this season, and it’s beyond fun to live in the midst of the celebration. FACT: Winning feels better than losing. My love of well-played sports puts a little wedge between me and a few of my friends, who find it at odds with my core pacifism, but there will be no justifications forthcoming – I’m that girl, and other people’s thoughts are none of my business.

Also this. Says the same thing as above, and covers all bases.

Speaking of bras, I’m pretty sure Oklahoma just banned Dolly Parton:

That’s your semi-regular load of random, boys and girls, do with it what you will, and make good stuff out of the weekend. Try to fare better than the Peeps – in which the key is “Don’t Be Fake.”

Image by Judy Smith

Arguing with the sun…

28 Feb 2023 8 Comments

***

It’s morning and the sun’s already climbing the sky, a situation that happens with alarming regularity, so it’s time to coffee up and deal. Some, not knowing better, might consider me the ultimate morning snob, as I strive to speak with no one before their time. Feels best to open my eyes in the semi-dark, consider seriously whether or not to stick a foot out yet, and spend the next couple of hours communing with Kim’s coffee and my own random brain waves, blithely referred to as The Muses. He goes away mid-morning to work out his existence within the parameters of PickleBall and comes home to either visible progress here while he was out, or invisible brain activity yielding no concrete evidence of any sort. No worries… he plays, I play, and we keep the News of the World out of our ears, damped to a slow burn. Some days there are spa soaks, and eventually lunch shows up, Kim having either made or brought it, which is what cooks do… it’s so cool. Afternoons often see a flurry of housework and errands, and evenings are couched in tequila shots, so it’s just all good, and the Life Police haven’t knocked on our door to let us know we’re doing it wrong.

Not really unsociable, not a recluse yet, I simply like having time to savor the best life offers me…

A thing the years have taught me is that every time I stick my neck out, somebody loops a lariat around it and leads me to a watering hole somewhere I hadn’t planned to go. Never look thirsty, is a rule I like. Otherwise you end up doing THIS:

Trying the road less traveled these days…

Because some things are indisputable.

Look at us, getting all healthy and stuff. Wow.

Image by Judy Smith

Oh, the humanity…

23 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

If you stop by and read me on any regular basis, you’re aware that my thoughts and words often focus on mortality. I would not, however, want there to be any misunderstanding about my trend in that direction, to wit: mortality and endings are the bailiwick of the Golden Age, and this girl simply prefers to know what she’s headed into, which ironically is yet another survival mechanism in operation. I hope to be fortunate enough to have inherited my grandmothers’ longevity, all of them seeing 95 or better, but it is not for me to know, nor do I really want to. Do you want to know the year of your demise? For my part, no thanks, it would color everything in different shades and ruin it all. I’m sorry, but if you read the ending of books before the beginning, we can’t be friends, get what I’m sayin’?

The alternative to morbid musings is to live ’til I die, in which case I intend to keep improving on my methods. Last year was full of heaviness and challenges, which has made it difficult to crawl out from under the pall, but dang, I am so ready to stop feeling whatever this is… and as I typed those words my brain said “It’s endings and beginnings, and you better deal, girlfriend, life is short.” The first step, for me… well, first step is always tears, whatever the situation. Second step is to decode the problem so I can break it down and handle it. Third step, cry some more. You know, the cycle of life. And because I need not only a vent-space but accountability, you get to eavesdrop on the process, and I hope it will prove helpful to you at some future date.

I’m ready for better, aren’t you?

Welp, here’s a welcome bit of news then…

And I’m expecting a huge back-rush of energy any moment now, so we’re good.

It’s called the Human Condition. Good luck getting out of it.

From my friend Phil…

I felt very seen by this, so I stole it. My sense of humor was inherited from crazy Germans and rough-edged Black Irish, and it is decidedly not for everyone. Do the looks I get do anything to stop me? Rarely. Because I had great role models.

Best coffee in town all up in here, made by Kim, so nobody has to suffer. He says the out-and-about coffee drinker looks like Jeff Lynne.

EDITED to say “Who IS this man I live with? He’d never seen any of the mashups, nor had I, but here ya’ go…

Sharing because it might be the most astounding thing I’ll read all day:

And finally, sharing because life and breath and love R us.

Image by Judy Smith

Truth vs whatever’s in second place…

19 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

THE DOORS

They stand erect in never-ending rows, each one offering a choice to make.

Some are dark, some bathed in light, all hold secret truths hard to unravel.

Here’s one labeled SILENCE. On which side, one wonders, there or here?

If I stand mute before it, will its stillness reveal wisdom and knowledge to my parched imagination?

So many doors, so many choices, so little time for everything.

The endless labels insinuate themselves upon our consciousness and leave us breathless…

How, how, how to ever investigate the options before time runs out and the buzzer signals an end to the game?

In the face of forever, time constraints are unspeakably cruel in their finality.

On they march, the doors, each firmly closed and locked to those without a set of keys.

Or is it just one key we need… the Master?

Is the secret in the simplicity?

Do we muddy the waters with our psychic flailing, drowning the answers directly under our feet?

Those doors, with their often obscure labels, stand like accusers we didn’t know we had

And the shock and awe outweigh the confusion until we get our bearings.

What do they really want from us, these sentinels of judgment?

Couldn’t we all have a nice chat and figure it out?

Conversation doesn’t seem to be the plan… and think about it

Everything has been said, end of story.

Now run, read the labels, make those choices!

Be fierce and turn a knob or two.

Guess you didn’t notice, that one said OFF THE CLIFF.

Oh well. Climb back up and keep reading

Because somewhere, in some wall, there’s a door that says SANCTUARY

And it does not lie.

JLSmith 02/19/2023

Image by Judy Smith

Of weather, moods, and change…

16 Feb 2023 2 Comments

Photo by Kim Smith 02/14/2023

***

Our forecast was for overnight snow, but what we have is frozen fog on the streets and sidewalks, curtailing most outdoor activity until the sun arrives, which may not be anytime soon. Kim canceled his morning walk after skating to the trash building and back, and people are navigating our intersection at Granny speed. No walkers below my windows, which is slightly eery… but the mood all up in here is sanguine and patient, waiting for what will be. Kim’s making oatmeal to get us started, and as long as I fold and store a stack of laundry, and make it to a haircut after lunch, I will have justified my existence for another day. I half hope my hairdresser is staying tucked in today, as there’s hardly a safe surface for man nor beast. A friend posted this about the current situation at our hospital complex:

He added that there are slide-offs and vehicle pileups all over town. Our balcony is now strewn with what look like pellets of dry ice, the streets are slick with black ice, and today’s high temp will remain below freezing, so yeah, good day to hide by the fire if you have one.

If everything shuts down for the day, that leaves lots of time for thinking, likely the riskiest thing I engage in now. How many of us thought we’d either be a completed work by 75, or dead, and here I am still trying to know myself before the ride stops. Things happen for which I realize too late I’m woefully unprepared… but how can this be? I’ve been there done that, but the capacity to ignore reality persists. Observing my grandmothers, who all seemed sort of “old” by the time I was fully aware of them, led me to believe that after a certain age serenity sets in and nothing can ruffle all that accumulated knowledge and experience. Not so much, sorry to say. Here’s the piece that matters: We stay approximately the same age inside for our entire lives, merely adjusting to the times as we go along… or not.

Something I’m newly grateful for… after living here for almost ten years, I finally have my own personal care team in place and it’s making all the difference. Keri owns my hair, Jourdan keeps my piggies looking presentable, and Erica provides TLC for my achy body. Wonderful women who express themselves through giving. It matters.

And now last night’s snow has arrived and is falling thick and heavy. Kim delivered me to my haircut and back, across two city blocks and several feet of treacherous sidewalk, and we lived to tell about it. The fireplace will see us through. You stay safe, and enjoy what winter has to offer!

Image by Judy Smith

Promises kept…

11 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

In the predawn hours of December 22, 2021, as I checked into KU Med Center for spinal surgery, I promised myself a reward: “Get through this in style and you win a nice therapeutic massage after your one-year assessment.” Yesterday, six weeks late but right on time, was finally that day – an entire uninterrupted hour of TLC for the stuff that made recovery happen – and I’m still thanking me for it as we speak. It’s gratifying when people listen to their inner voice and do what they’re born to do. Erica was born to give the gift of therapeutic massage… her voice and demeanor are calm, she exudes peace, and her hands find all the pockets of pain in the muscles and tissue, encouraging discomfort to leave the body. She asked why I waited a year to come to her and I didn’t really have an answer except that I somehow thought I should let the official healing period expire before I struck out on my own. Pollyannas are like that, sigh. She gently let me know that if I ever have invasive surgery again, as soon as the incision(s) are healed come see her in order for the ACTUAL healing to start. She’s clearly right – I had volumes of stress and pain stored in my cells that needed to be disturbed enough to go away. We’ll wake some more up next time.

Trained or not, there’s no substitute for the human touch, so this massage is a place-marker and an admonition to treat myself well in all the ways available to me. Life is entirely too brief to voluntarily miss out on things like music, sunshine, kittens, and the skilled hands of a healer, and they do walk among us.

So here we are on a crisp winter morning, with that faithful orange glow starting to illuminate the horizon. It’s 16º and Kim’s walking Mass Street, letting his hands get Just.Cold.Enough. to be entertaining. It’s Saturday, so it’ll be all the usual plus Jayhawk B-ball at noon. And then we’re hearing rumors of shenanigans in the works for tomorrow, so… wotta weekend, boys and girls! Hope it’s SUPER!

Image by Judy Smith

Where Do You Go

09 Feb 2023 1 Comment

***

When your sense of wonder slips away, where do you search?

Do you head outside? Breathe new air?

Do you go to the river and let its rot and decay

speak to you of letting go?

Do you clutch the shards of pain that confirm you’re alive, you did not die?

Or try to efficiently sweep them away before they’re seen?

Have you learned to let go of what breaks you

and embrace what will heal you?

Do you walk in the rain, letting it slide down your face and mix with your tears?

Do you hang out in spots where people talk, over coffee, but not to you?

Do you hope strangers miss your anguish

while those who love you feel it in their bones?

Where do you go, what do you do?

Have you lived yourself into honest answers yet?

Have you loved yourself into truth

or are you okay with whatever’s in second place?

JLSmith 02/09/2023

Image by Judy Smith

The junk drawer…

06 Feb 2023 3 Comments

***

How does someone long retired still end up with The Mondays every week? Apparently there are things so ingrained in our psyches that we can never break loose, but this is silly… Monday doesn’t bring bad news, heinous commitments, or unbearable stress, it’s just Day One and maybe therein lies the dread: What fanciful ways will I find in which to screw up in the week ahead of me? Oh well.

Life of late sort of chugs along on its own with not too many momentous events, and stays just weird enough not to devolve into apathy. My brain, not in demand for anything much, carries on an existence it doesn’t share with me unless I ask, and the days do tend to stay JUST. WEIRD. ENOUGH.

Yesterday it came to me that part of the loneliness attached to this decade stems from no longer being an intrinsic part of a big supportive family. That network started crumbling some years back and I miss it, while also recognizing that not everything is forever. We all grow into who we are, and the pieces don’t match up anymore. Just the facts.

So, time to start the week with a smile. I stole an idea this morning from someone whose blog I like, and I hope she won’t mind terribly. She has no idea I exist, but the junk drawer concept is hers.

Anyway, Mondays strike me as the proper time for a junk drawer purge, especially as the weekends can take a toll on storage, so here’s a string of smiles I stole from a Facebook friend. (I have criminal tendencies, you’re finally catching on to that.) Enjoy, and do something satisfying with your day. In my world, this is the first day of exploration/cleaning/sorting in our big closet, which will light me up like a sparkler… I love getting rid of stuff! Tune in later for the accountability,

Meanwhile, here’s your sign:

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Unless you have a raging masochistic jones.

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Billboard available, only smaller.

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Don’t even think about it, sparky.

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Last but not least, here’s a List of The Weird that will take me all week to check off:

***

Schmaltzy, but true and worth keeping in mind:

Image by Judy Smith

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