Wednesday, February 29, 2012

A Flying Leap

Leap day.  February 29th.  An extra day.   24 hours of additional time.  A gift.  What are you going to do with it?

Me?  I'm not sure yet.  Something fun.  Something unexpected.

Let's do it together.  Take a flying leap into the unknown.

Patterson_jump_57

Just don't break anything when you land.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Red Carnations

Two weeks ago my Mother purchased this little bouquet of red carnations from the local farmer's market.   I'm not a big fan of carnations.  Thus they sat, for days, ignored by me and my camera.  Finally in desperate need of a 365 photo the little red blossoms shouted from the table in the corner, "pick me, pick me."  Sadly their pretty red petals were beginning to brown around the edges.  I had waited too long.  Almost.

wred_carnations_soc

In spite of my negligance, the little red bouquet was so happy to finally be noticed it stood tall, proudly showing off its cheery red blossoms.

wred_carnations

Life lesson:  Everything and everyone is worthy, even if red carnations aren't your favorite.

Monday, February 27, 2012

His Day

They roll around once a year whether we like it or not..... birthdays.  Generally speaking we don't make much of a big deal about them at our house.  We let them slip into yesterdays with a nod of greeting and continue making our way towards tomorrow.

Today is his day.

wDoug_bat

The day of his birth.  On this day he arrived in the world destined to make his mark.... on friends, family, co-workers and yes, even strangers.  But mostly on me.  So much so that I cannot begin to imagine my life without him in it.  And so I won't.

Happy Birthday Babe.  You make me laugh, even when I don't want to.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Have A Nice Day

Have a nice day....

wDay_lily
Lily.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Why Is It

wHeron_flight

Why is it I always manage to scare them away?

Thursday, February 23, 2012

I Can Feel It

The days are getting longer.

It is not yet 7:00 a.m. and the sun is spreading light and warmth.

Birds are chirping outside my window. A cacophony of sound urging me to rise and be productive.

I can feel it.  Shimmering.  All around, waiting for the opportunity to burst forth in song.

Yes, even in this place of perpetual summer I can feel it.

Spring.

It's just around the corner.

Waiting.  Bags stuffed full of colorful tulips and fragrant lilac blossoms, budding trees and the bright greens of new growth.

wHeron_in_grass

Biding time.  Patiently waiting

For just the right moment to arrive.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

She Must Stay

We watched Marley and Me last night.  For the second time.

I cried.  Again.

After it was over I hugged Henna tightly wishing her never to grow old
and leave me.   The Kid says she is the last.  There will be no more dogs when she is gone and
I can't bear to think of my life without the love of a dog.  And so it is written,

wHenna_look_up
she must stay with me forever.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

It's Always About Food

Why is it that all of our outings revolve around food?

Is it not possible to leave the confines of home without eating a meal?  Meet with friends simply for the conversation?  Shop for new shoes without lunch?  Celebrate an occasion without cake?  See a movie without dinner?

Dr_Pepper

You can tell I've been dieting can't you?

Monday, February 20, 2012

To Make It, or Not

There are so many deep and introspective thoughts that traverse my gray matter on a daily basis.  Questions for the universe that beg to be answered.  Relevant and thought provoking items of great importance.

Things to ponder, such as:  why do we make our beds every day?  Who in the annals of time declared that all beds should be made upon rising?  And what if said bed remains unmade?  Is there an unmade bed czar who travels the country doing random bed checks and issuing citations?  If so, what happens to those who are declared guilty?   Those whose bed sheets are found twisted in knots and whose spreads lie crumpled on the floor?   Are they banished for life?  Sentenced to forty years of purgatory watching Martha Stewart bed making 101 videos?

wunmade_bed

The only bed making czar I ever feared was the one who raised me.  Thou shalt not leave the house if thy bed is unmade was the commandment.  I have to tell you the commandments of my youth were taken seriously.  Breaking one never led to anything good.  As a teen it was my only hope for a social life.  But what of now?  I am an adult.  Have I mentioned that turned sixty recently?  Certainly old enough to forge my own path in the world.  Instead, and I hesitate to admit it, I cannot leave a bed unmade.  I have tried, but to no avail.  Once I managed to last all the way to 9:48 p.m. before fear got the best of me.  I found myself scurring to straighten blankets, and fluff pillows finishing the job mere minutes before climbing in for the night.

I am beginning to believe that the whole bed making thing is a vast right wing conspiracy.  Something created in corporate board rooms by men in suits with dollar signs in their eyes.  Seriously, have you seen the beds in magazines recently?  Layers of sheets, quilts, comforters, and throws.  Pillows stacked high in random perfection.  With all of that stuff on the bed where is one supposed to sleep?  And how long would it take one to put that masterpiece together every morning?  It's too much I tell you, too much.  But I digress.

Yesterday I googled "why do we make our beds every day" and do you know what I found?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Nothing that speaks to the origin.  There was no earl of bedding, no biblical decree, no idiom.  Not even an old wife's tale to justify the tradition.  Just a lot of people with a lot of opinions.

And so I ask, why bother?

Today I'm turning over a new leaf.  Breaking the chains of conformity.  Today I shall throw caution to the wind and leave my bed unmade for the entire day.

But somebody, please, call me if you hear the bed czar is in my neighborhood.  I never was crazy about Martha.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Can We Talk

We interrupt this blog to bring you an important message.

It has come to my attention that some of you have taken the whole turning 60 thing more seriously than was intended.  Please know that I am not feeling blue about last week's big event.  The posts were my attempt at sarcastic humor with perhaps a little embellishment thrown in for good measure.  And while much of it was true (except for the parts that weren't quite true) it was all in fun.

To those of you who were concerned about my mental state, thank you for caring.  To those who laughed with me and called me crazy thank you for getting it me.  I love you all.

Regularly scheduled programming will resume tomorrow.

wFree_news

Unless I get a latent bout of depression over turning 60 or the dog runs away.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Superstition

I believe I have managed to beat a dead horse with the whole turning sixty thing.  I did such a good job that I squeezed three days worth of posts out it.  Score for me.   But the time has come to move on, so move on I will.

wsoftball_dg_run

Once again I find myself idea-less, mired in the in the mud of the mundane.   I could report on The Kid and softball.  His team is not so good this season.  In fact The Kid has struggled this season.  Struggled to find his bat, struggled in the field,  struggled with the aches and pains of renewed physical activity after months of dormancy.  But thanks to the nice man on the cruise who pin pointed his pain and offered a solution The Kid is back on track.  His bat has come alive and diving left field catches are once again common place. It's all about confidence, the new arch supports in his shoes, and leaving his shirt untucked.

Yes, you read that correctly.  He is convinced that this mid-season turn around is the result of allowing his shirt tail to flap freely in the breeze.  The outcome of this one act alone has changed his entire outlook on the season.

Elite athletes are so superstitious.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

A Different Perspective

wblured_walkway

I have been home now for several days, surrounded by the familiar.  Nestled into the ordinary.  And I have to admit that encased in the comfort of home sixty doesn't look so daunting.

In fact just the opposite.  Because, seriously, why on earth would I want to relive my twenties?  Those years were filled with insecurity and a need to conform.  Who needs it?

My thirties?   Little league was fun, but those PTA meetings?  Not so much.

My forties?  Teenagers?  No way, no how.  Nuff said.

My fifties?  Well maybe.

Sixty?  Life looks pretty good from here.

Children raised?    Check.
Grandchildren to play with?  Check, check.
Parents to give them back to when I'm done playing?  Check.
Friends to love, both old and new?  Check, check.
Retirement?  Check
A camera in my hands?  Check
Living life on my terms?  Check
The Kid to share it all with?  Check, check

Life is what you make it.  At any age.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Reality Bites

Yesterday we returned from a four day cruise.  I do not like short cruises.  Short cruises are filled with twenty and thirty somethings with buff bodies prancing around the pool deck in barely there bikinis and showing up for dinner in spandex bandaids.  All reminders of what I once was.

wself_porthole

I'm sixty now.  Did I mention that?  I lounged by the pool in a burka.  Covered from head to toe and sweating like a pig from hot flashes run amuck, impatiently waiting for the buffet line to open.  I was tucked away under an overhang, clinging to shade with the rest of the senior set.  Old men with pot bellies and thick tufts of hair proturding from their ears; old women with big glasses and bright red lips whose best assests have succombed to gravity and now rest comfortably in their laps.

There I sat, watching the parade of bikinis and wondering what the hell happened to me?  And when?  When did my middle expand to include a spare tire?  When did cellulite overtake my extremities and my upper arms begin flapping in the breeze?  All of the things I vowed at twenty would not happen to me had somehow snuck in the back door when I wasn't looking and happened.

The long list of spa offerings was tempting.  Of particular interest was the "New Look, New You" package.  I came to my senses in the nick of time, just before handing over my credit card for the $300 quick fix.  I realized that the only new look, new me package that could fix me now would involve a knife, anesthesia and suction tubes.

At one point I made the mistake of asking The Kid which one of the bikini clad bodies I most resembled.  After all I have been walking a lot in recent months and eating more healthy for weeks.  Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought.  The Kid watched and observed for quite some time before carefully responding.  "You know,"  he said, "I really can't say.  I would actually need to see you in day light without your burka."  "In your dreams," I retorted, retreating deeper into the folds of my security blanket.

What time wasn't spent sitting by the pool wondering what happened to my youth was spent pushing my future around in a wheel chair.  Yes, my 91 year old mother was along.  It was then that I knew.  Gravity is going to continue to wreak havoc on my once toned and fit physique.  The only hope I have of ever doning a bikini again is by cutting a hole in my depends, wearing one for the top and one for the bottom.

The moral of the story?

Don't celebrate your 60th birthday on a short cruise with your 91 year old mother.  Your past and your future just might team up and push you overboard.  And that darn burka sinks like a rock.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Sixty is a Big Number

Today is my birthday.  I share this with you not because I'm looking for well wishes from you, the magnificent eleven, but because this  birthday is a BIG one.  It is a decade crasher.  After ten years of successfully climbing the ladder of the previous decade all that awaits is a shove off the top landing one unceremoniously at the bottom of a new decade.  I find myself sprawled on the floor not at all certain how I feel about any of this.

wself_bday

Sixty.  The big six o.  It is a large number.  My first thoughts were when did this happen?  And how? After all just last month I was in my twenties and chasing toddlers.  I was sleep deprived but the only things sagging were the bags under my eyes.  Bikinis were a reality not a dream.

Three weeks ago I was cruising through my thirties juggling little league ball games and PTA meetings. I admit there may have been some gray sprouting amid all of that dark brown but simply by skipping a desert or two bikinis were still an option.  Oh yea, life was good.

Two weeks ago I stumbled through my forties.  Teenagers filled the house with noise and confusion.  It was during this time that someone, somewhere, had the bright idea to reduce the size of the print in our telephone book.  Bifocals entered my life along with Lady Clairol.  After all it was far too soon to be sporting all of that gray. Somehow I survived those teenage years and the gray hair,  but my bikinis did not.

Just last week I eased into my fifties.  A period of relative calm and quiet. I enjoyed it so much I truly hate to see it end.  It was the decade of grandchildren.  Babies and toddler reentered my life only this time without the sleep deprivation.  I embraced the gray, but bikinis had become a nightmare.

And now I'm sixty.  I'm sitting on the floor at the foot of the ladder nursing my bruised ego.  My hair is white, I'm blind as a bat and everything is sagging.  Where does one go from here?  In truth the options are limited so I guess I had better pick myself up and start climbing again.

But not before I tell you why the sudden preoccupation with bikinis.

To be continued.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Idea-less

After pondering yesterday's post concerning the absence of words I have decided that words aren't the real problem after all.  It's ideas.  Creativity, or lack thereof.  When an idea clicks the words follow.

It seems I am idea-less.  A word I'm certain you will not find in Webster's.  Perhaps the prepositions had a party inviting all manner of useless information who danced and drank the night away leaving behind a mess that no one has had the good sense to clean up.  It must have been a doozy too, since my creativity has locked itself in its room and refuses to come out.

It's tough being a blogger.  Even one with 11 followers.

wLilac_dbl

And on a totally unrelated note I will be MIA for a few days.  Check back early next week.  Hopefully by then the prepositions will have come out of their stupor and cleaned up the mess.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

I Hate It When That Happens

I do.  I really do.  I hate it when the words won't come.  When they play hide and seek with me in the dark. I hear their laughter.  Low chuckles of amusement quickly stifled so as not to give away their hiding places. And there they remain ... out of reach.  Inky shadows of what could be if only they would reveal themselves.

Maybe tomorrow.  Perhaps then they will tire of their silly games.  Emerge from the shadows.  Jump up and down and wave their stubby little arms yelling pick me, pick me.

Until then a picture will just have to do.

wmilkweed

After all, it's worth a thousand words.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

What I Want To Know

I found the following on my morning tour of the web.  I could have written it. (That is if I could string words together with such beauty and grace.)  I wish I had written it.  Instead I'll share it.

wIxora_dblex


what i want to know is

is it okay that i'm not trying to change the world?
that most days i'm content just to change my pajamas
and that most months, most years
i consider myself lucky to have made it this far
because it's all so damn complicated
and
is it okay that all i really have are questions
all i've ever had are questions and that i get sick
and tired of hearing all those answers being shouted
from other people's rooftops when i know they are
in just as much danger of slipping off as i am
and
is it okay that some nights i can't sleep
because the walls can't hold all the things
in my heart and my hands scribble scrabble
in a vain attempt to clean up all my messes,
knitting words that never see the light of day
and
is it okay that i don't need to be fixed
because surely i'm not broken, i've seen broken
and my soul is nobody's business but my own
in fact it's whole and beautiful even if it is
lined with purple shadows of doubt
and
is it okay that some nights i just want to sit
by the fire with a book in my hands
that takes me anywhere but here and it's not
because i need to escape my life
it's just that some days i'm tired
i just don't feel like changing the world,
some days i just want to be in it
feeling it squish between my toes
and dragging me down down down
before i float away?

                                      ~ Kelly Letky
                                         that's mrs. mediocrity to you

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Vegas Headliner

wplantingoldlight

Yesterday at lunch I was asked to recite that pesky list of prepositions.  There was doubt in the rank and file. Naysayers among friends.  They were a tough crowd too.  The kind that know you well enough to egg you on in public.  I'm almost certain they were hoping I would fail and humiliate myself with my bold proclamation, thus providing them with an anecdote of embarrassment to trot out at future gatherings.  I really thought this group had higher standards.  Apparently I was wrong.  You will however, be pleased to know that I did not disappoint.  The sweet little list of forty perky preps flowed forth from lips like manna from heaven and the cheers and applause that followed was nothing short of inspiring.  So much so that I'm thinking about taking this show on the road.

Look out Donnie and Marie....   Vegas here I come.


Friday, February 3, 2012

Impressive Yet Useless

wSt.Maartin_beach

Spurred on by Chokoolonks (one of the ever increasing number of blogs I read on a daily basis.  If this keeps up I'll do nothing more with my days than read what everyone else in the universe is writing and never get to writing my own.), who blogged the other morning about the useless things she knew or could do.  Soon my feeble brain was off and running.  I was certain my list would be long.  Filled with a myriad of knowledge and skills that serve no purpose.  I was wrong.  I could only come up with three.  But three is blog worthy and you know me, I have to share.

Did you know that I can recite a list of every preposition known to mankind.  Or at least the list that was known to mankind when I was 11 and forced to memorize it.  Did my 5th grade teacher actually believe that knowing every single preposition known to man would somehow make my life better?  Pull that tidbit out at a cocktail party and see where it gets you.  Valuable brain cells have been wasted with forty prepositions that can be spouted on command in alphabetical order.  No wonder I can't remember what I had for dinner last night those darn prepositions are in the way.

I also know all of the words to the theme song from Mr. Ed.  A horse is a horse of course of course and no one can talk to a horse of course, that is of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.  Go right to the source and ask the horse, he'll give you the answer that you'll endorse, he's always on a steady course, talk to Mr. Ed.  Go ahead, Google it.  I dare you.

36-24-36-16.  No those aren't my measurements.  It is the combination to my high school gym locker.  Information that could be classified as useful if said lock could be located and wasn't consumed by rust and decay after 40 plus years in a landfill somewhere in western Pennsylvania.

I'm certain there are more.  The Kid is always rolling his eyes in his "who cares" fashion when I spout these bits of useless trivia.  But I can't seem to locate them in my head.  It's the prepositions.  I'm sure of it.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

A Penny for Your Thoughts

wgull

Do you pick up lost pennies?  Or found pennies...  because in truth once you notice them they really aren't lost anymore.  That is unless you continue on your way too busy or too jaded to stop and pick them up.  In that case is the penny still lost or is it found but rejected?  An insult that compounds the sad plight of the penny even further.

Me, I'm a penny picker upper.  Once I catch a glimpse of that little copper disc I am compelled to stop, stoop and pocket.  I've been known to dig them out of the dirt and scoop them out of muddy puddles.   Oh I've tried to ignore them.  Walk on.  Mind my business.  But I can't do it.  Something inside me disengages stopping all forward progress.  "Find a penny pick it up all the day you'll have good luck" begins playing in my head, repeating itself in an annoying fashion until I give in.  I turn.  I stop.  I stoop.  I pocket.

I know pennies don't bring me good luck.  I know because I've paid attention.  Someone once told me they have to be heads up for luck.  I know this is not true either.  I know because I've paid attention.  I've picked up pennies at little league ball games.  I've rubbed them back to greatness hoping for one more hit.  And still the game was lost.  It matters not whether heads or tails; the luck thing is bogus.  A cruel joke played on a gullible world by a simple minded soul.  I know and yet I stop.  I stoop.  I pocket.

I look at it this way.  I have not only saved the life of the little lost penny but perhaps my own.  That is if one considers every stop, stoop and pocket as a squat.  If I pick up twenty lost coins that equals twenty squats towards a healthier me.  Five hundred might be enough to firm thighs fit enough for swimsuit season.  If this idea catches on it could conceivably put health clubs out of business.

Not to be overshadowed by fitness is the purchase power of lost pennies.  If I collect fifty I can score a senior coffee at Mickey D's.  And just think of the possibilites of one hundred lost pennies at the dollar store.  Why if I pocketed enough lost copper I could purchase a weeks worth of groceries at the local Publix and get into shape all at the same time.

Find a penny pick it up all the day you'll have.......a lot of loose pennies in your pocket.