When the music starts,
when the beat begins,
I still want to move
like I did way back when
My hips find their groove
My feet find the beat
Hands sway in time
And I can’t keep my seat
Lord, I know I’m past the age
Of raising hell on the floor,
But when that downbeat hits
I beg for one dance more.
All This and Cataracts, Too
Sometimes I kid myself:
I’m young, sexy, skinny, and brilliant.
Yes, I kid myself.
In reality, I’m old, dumpy, chunky, and bland.
And now I’m told I have cataracts. Yes, they’re “baby cataracts,” and shouldn’t be an issue for a number of years, but dammit all to hell; I have cataracts.
I see trouble on the horizon. Wait! I can’t see the horizon!
Peace, people.
©2017 by Leslie Noyes
Aging sucks, but as I’m frequently reminded it beats the hell out of the alternative. This past October I celebrated my 60th birthday. Six decades on this earth have taken a toll on my body. I’m no longer the svelte, lithesome broad I once was. And everything hurts.
My ankles hurt, my thighs hurt, and my hips seem to be stuck in neutral. I’m okay as long as I move forward, just don’t ask me to pivot or cha cha. Damn, I miss cha cha-ing.
A Facebook pop up advertisement (amazing how they pick up on my personal needs) prompted me to check on exercises designed to ease those frozen hips. Apparently, if I could stretch my hip flexors, I might achieve full range of motion. I could once again cha cha.
I turned to Google, and this stretch was the first thing to appear under “hip flexor stretches.”
Honestly. I can’t cha cha and they expect me to do this? I tried. Lord knows I tried. Studly Doright walked in during my attempt and laughed so hard I would have slapped him if I could’ve gotten up off the floor.
I’ll be in the whirlpool tub if anyone needs me.
https://g.co/kgs/oXQ3m7
Peace, people.
Wisps of fleecy clouds
Do not mar a summer sky
They define the blue
Gift me with crinkles
Life’s perfect imperfections
Memory’s index
Smile with abandon
Frown without retribution
Claim each earned wrinkle
‘Twas the night before sixty
And while tossing in bed
I considered my body
From my toes to my head.
My arches have fallen
My calves ache with fatigue
Poor ankles are swollen
Oh, where’s the Aleve?
My thighs nicknamed thunder,
Hips ache all the time.
Stomach pooches with abandon,
Breasts droop, it’s a crime!
My neck’s crepey like a chicken’s
My face wrinkled like a Sharpei’s
But brown eyes still a’twinkle
While brown hair’s turning gray.
The changes have been gradual,
And not overnight
Thank goodness I’ve had time
To deal with the fright.
Today’s the day I kiss my fifties goodbye. I’m really looking forward to this decade. If it weren’t the middle of the week I’d go out dancing until 2 a.m., drink my companions under the table, and run naked through the streets singing “Born to be Wild” at the top of my lungs. Good thing it’s Wednesday.
http://youtu.be/xm5DPlNCmtk
Peace, people!
Lady in Green
By Leslie Noyes
sitting all alone in a bistro at noon, she was beautifully wrinkled, a smile for the ages.
Similarly alone, yet slightly less wrinkled, I claimed a seat in a nearby booth.
Waving my fingertips to catch her attention, I complimented her vibrant style,
Told her that particular shade of green suited her well, that she looked lovely.
She blushed an innocent shade of rose, saying, “Then I will wear it every day.”
We ordered, then discussed the importance of kindness as we munched our separate
Salads. I asked if she’d let me take her picture. There was that blush again.
After wiping a smudge of ranch dressing from the corner of her mouth she nodded permission.
It didn’t occur to me until I’d left the cafe that I should have asked her name.
I shared the picture of my anonymous lunch companion in a snapshot post a few days ago. The more I thought about her, the more I knew she needed her own poem.
My suggestion to my readers–find someone and tell them they’re lovely. Watching them blossom will make you feel lovely, too.
Peace, people.
This lovely and gracious woman and I enjoyed lunch together in Monticello, FL, yesterday. I call this, “Grace in Green.” My photo doesn’t come close to conveying her beauty.
I’m not gay, bi, trans, or even curious, but I am an ally.
I’m not Black, but I wholly support Black Lives Matter.
I’m not an immigrant, but I am for fair treatment and compassion.
Not to diminish a single one of these, but I was beginning to feel I had no group. Now I do.
Well, I’m also a feminist, so there’s that.
Peace, people!
Fifty-nine is such an awkward age. In my mind I’m a slender twenty-something, long slender legs, perky breasts, etc., etc. In reality, I’m a slightly overweight, almost 60 year-old grandmother with an expanding waistline and flabby upper arms.
Sometimes my mind orders clothes off the internet that my reality can’t wear. Take these lovely skirts from Darn Good Yarn:
Made from recycled saris, they’re reversible and pretty much one-size-fits-all. My mind was so sure I was going to look like a bohemian darling. My reality said, “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
So now what? I guess I could take them to a consignment shop, but I’m not crazy about either of the ones I know about in Tallahassee. Maybe I could have someone make pillows out of them?
Next time my mind tries to talk me into something like this I’m going to tell it to take a hike. But then, maybe it already has.
Peace, people!
I petted a rug this morning. Bent down and stroked it before realizing it wasn’t my black cat.
Granted the lighting was dim, and I hadn’t had my first sip of coffee yet, but I talked to the rug in the voice I generally reserve for my black cat long before I got close enough to pet it.
I should’ve known something was up when she didn’t talk back.
Praying for Eyebrowz 