It’s a red lipstick kind of day. I have to put my best face forward…or is that my best foot forward. If that’s the case, I should don those pointy-toed impossibly high-heeled bodacious sparkly-hued shoes – but alas they went to Value Village when I realized the wearing of pointy-toed impossibly high-heeled bodacious sparkly-hued shoes is a thing of my past. It’s a matter of balance. Sort of like my centre of gravity has shifted over the years. Pity. Where was I?
If anything weird is going to happen, you can bet my sister is with me. Together we attract the bizarre. Usually it’s a laughable situation. Just picture Lucy and Ethel in the chocolate factory and you get the idea. The occurrences are not as frequent. Remembering past escapades, we would never risk going anywhere without a full tank of gas and a GPS. And don’t forget the cell phone. As for travelling by plane together – or cruise ship for that matter – optimist that I am, I’d still have to prepare for the worst.
Fall is my favourite season. Yada, yada yada. How many times do you hear that? Sure the leaves change colour with an ooh and an aah. The air is crisp. That dastardly humidity is gone and I’m no longer a soggy mess. That’s a blessing. But this year, more than any other, I’m reluctant to say goodbye to summer. Strange, since I’m always up for a new season … or a day of shopping…or an invitation to dinner. Just saying. Normally, I thrive on change, so I’m puzzled that I’m nurturing that last blooming flower.
Booting along Hwy 21 with the radio cranked waiting for the next singalong, I heard the catchwords ‘too old to enjoy it...’. The DJ – a young guy, Obviously – was talking about the lottery. Wait a minute, did he really say that?
I tire easily but the adrenalin keeps me going when I’m visiting or entertaining. Usually, that is.
Last summer she took up smoking. Ya gotta be kidding me. Just when the rest of the world has quit or are trying to quit. But there’s no reasoning with her. She’s a stubborn eighty-year-old. That’s right – eighty!
Maybe it was all the hoopla over the royal wedding and the fact that I was trying to come up with a column that turned my thoughts to an envelope I received in the mail a few years back. It contained a typewritten note – when was the last time you saw a typewritten note – suggesting I write a column on weddings. He went on to relate a story of an old chum who was locked in his bedroom on the day of his wedding some sixty years earlier. It was probably the storyteller who did the key-turning but the confession was only slightly visible between the lines.
Moving sucks. Not the part about living in a new place and meeting new people. That’s nice. It’s the ‘getting ready to move’ part that makes you want to rip the Sold sign from the front yard.
The only way he’d leave our place in the country is in a pine box. That’s what he said. So much for my suggestion that we downsize. Of course, timing is everything. Impatience keeps me from mastering that whole ‘choose the right moment’ thing. During the summer while hubby was busy pruning, weeding, re-planting, mowing, etc., I was fidgeting with the urge for a change of scene. There was a time when I constantly needed challenge in my life – I’m totally over that – but I still thrive on adventure.
That Benjamin Button fella had it right. Did you catch that movie from a few years back? The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? He was born an old man and he grew younger. Imagine starting life with wrinkles, arthritis, and cataracts. I’ll tell you, he had a face only a mother could love. Unfortunately, his mother died and his father…well, you’d have to see the movie.