Real life is not pretty;
although, it may have
moments of incredible beauty.
Real life is not romantic,
yet often has the power
to take one’s breath away.
Real life is not easy,
but living well is always
worth the struggle.
Real life is not for wimps
or for those afraid of
sustaining commitment.
Real life is for those
who know the power of
family; the power of love.
In a perfect world we’d all be as chill as this cat.
Instead, I seem to follow the scenario below:
Like my mother before me, if I don’t have something to worry about I get worried. I heard recently in an interview on NPR that humans developed the ability to worry as a survival skill. At least I think that’s what the expert said. If so, I’m well equipped to survive. Unless of course I’m not. I guess I should worry about that, as well.
Peace, people!
I am a dancer.
I am a dancer in the same sense that I am a writer.
I dance, but no one pays me for my efforts.
I dance, and sometimes people laugh.
I dance even when no one is watching.
I dance just because I can.
My cats are puzzled by my dancing, though, whereas they are completely oblivious to my writing.
Often I dance on the soft, faux fur rug in front of the flat screen tv in our den. The rug tickles my soles and cushions my steps.
This same rug is the cats’ favorite spot to curl up for a nap on a sunny afternoon, so my dance steps must be careful lest I squish one of my best friends. I like a little danger in my dance.
The truth is they could move at any time, yet they choose to be part of my choreography. I could dance elsewhere, but then my feline audience would be deprived of my display of grace and natural rhythm. I really am gifted.
Just ask the cats.
Remember the old story of the Princess and the Pea? The queen wanted to make sure her son’s new romantic interest was a true princess, so she secretly placed a tiny pea beneath a stack of mattresses to see if the girl could detect the pea’s presence. Of course, the girl got a terrible night’s sleep and was declared a true princess.
That’s me. I’m the princess, only in my case the irritant isn’t a pea, it’s the little poky part of the toe seam in socks. Even short walks in my athletic shoes rub blisters on my cute little toes unless I put preemptive bandages in strategic places.
You see, I’m a delicate little flower. No, really. Stop laughing. At 5’8″ tall and I’m not saying how many pounds, I hardly look the part, but it’s true.
I’ve spent many years and many dollars trying to find a sock with non-irritating seams. Finally, I think I might’ve succeeded in my quest. The brand is Balega, and the socks are made in South Africa. The key to their comfort is that the toe seam is hand linked instead of machine linked. Big difference!
I’m not saying this is the only sock with this feature, but it’s the only one I’ve come across in a light weight running/walking sock. SmartWool, I believe, has the same feature, but even their lightweight socks are just too hot for walking in the Florida summer heat, and this princess’s skin is too delicate for wool.
See, I told you I was a delicate little flower.
Peace, people!
I give you Miss Bobbie Gentry:
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/A3jZLwAQwOwAUsU-QGEAAAA/
Ode to Billy Joe
Question: Just what was thrown off the Tallahatchee Bridge?
Question: Is it Tallahatchee or Tallahachee?
Unrelated Question: If Tom Brady were less good looking would his suspension have been overturned?
A life is more or less what
We choose to make of it
Choose with great care:
More love
Less censure
More acceptance
Less disdain
More family
Less conflict
More hugging
Less pain
More peace, people!
having tried in vain
to wrest me from my slumber
small cat snuggles close.
Right here.
You can’t see it,
but there’s a
tiny cut,
horizontal across
my soul.
It intersects
another
slice at a
right angle.
Normally I’d
enjoy such
precision, but
this array
is more
disturbing
than
appealing,
And totally
unnecessary.
If I choose to wander
too far afield,
If I climb too steeply,
If I dare to chase a vague dream,
Will you choose to catch me?
If I do not always get the
words just right,
If I don’t always discern the truth,
If you and I cannot agree,
Will you still value me?
Or must I fit into the box
we’ve constructed,
the comfortable conveyance
that defines my role
for you to deem me worth catching?
I’ve done a lot of strange things in my life, but since strapping on a Fitbit I have to admit my list has grown much longer.
The first thing I do each morning is look at the number of steps I’ve taken in the night. With a goal of 10,000 steps every one counts. I know exactly now how many steps I take going to and from the toilet with a stop off at the sink on the way back (25).
Then I check the quality of my sleep. My Fitbit indicates how many times I was awake during the night and how many minutes I spent in a restless state. Finally I have evidence proving that I don’t sleep. Studly Doright has to believe me now!
I also have become efficiently inefficient. Take laundry for example. In the days B.F. (Before Fitbit) I would carry arm loads of folded laundry from the chaise lounge in the den, dropping off various items in their appropriate places.
After Fitbit (A.F.) I make a separate trip for each grouping of items. Studly’s boxers get one trip, his socks another, and so on. I do the same with clothing I’ve hung to dry in the laundry room, sometimes making a dozen separate trips.
You don’t even want to know my new grocery shopping technique. Suffice it to say that by the time I’ve completed purchasing basics like milk, bread, and beer (yes, beer is a basic) I’ve crisscrossed the nearest Publix a dozen times. And parking has become a game to see just how far from the store I can park.
Since the Fitbit also counts the number of flights of stairs I’ve climbed I’ve found myself walking in strange patterns at both of our malls. I never thought I’d say it, but I’ve become a mall walker.
I can get all of the flights climbed in my own neighborhood just by walking up my side of the loop three and a third times, but until fall comes along it’s just too darned hot and humid out there. I did buy a small container of pepper spray so that some day in the future I’ll be brave enough to walk the entire loop again.
Have any of these machinations paid off? I don’t know yet, but if they allow me one beer in the evening, they’re worth it.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 