Sunday morning is coming down in glorious technicolor and here I sit in my ugly brown box like a truant confined for bad behavior. I’m waiting for someone to rescue me but there’s not a soul in sight. I’d better figure out how to escape before it’s too late. I’m declaring this “Think outside the box day.” Continue reading
Perhaps the “funnest” (sorry Miss Elizabeth) time this year was today in Mississippi when a bunch of women got together for a painting party to benefit the Kitty Bryan Dill Cancer Endowment Center. We painted some pottery, a few canvases, our clothes and at least one of us came home with paint on her face.
From left see artists Mary Jo Hill, Norma Atkins, Marie Portera, that Jones girl, Judy Staggers and Stacy Weems. Continue reading
Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I am NOT old despite the number of years I’ve managed to survive. It’s so unfair that people judge us by the age we’ve been assigned especially when certain mystifying behaviors begin creeping in.
For example. It has come to my attention that I might have begun driving like an old person. Admittedly I have developed an aversion to interstates. There was a time I used to race across the Mississippi coast on I-10 like a mad woman. Fear was not in my vocabulary.
Now I try to find two-lane dirt roads for my travels. There’s never any traffic and I like to shoot photos of old barns which are being reduced in numbers faster than my brain cells.
My friends don’t go crazy, we go normal from time to time, but today was not one of those days.
Not since I was five have I had a more memorable birthday celebration than the wingding Marie Portera threw today for Judy Murphy Staggers and me upon our 60 something birthdays. Most of us are about to run out of years in this decade and the biggy is next year so we’re going to kick up our heels as long as we breathe. Continue reading
Yesterday I reached one of those milestone years. Thanks to that world menace, Facebook, now everyone knows which one. Let’s just say I have 364 days remaining before I enter my 70s.
As I mulled over how to spend this wealth of days, I got a call from my friend who sounded literally on top of the world. She had discovered the meaning of life in the span of about 35 minutes.
“I finally cleaned out my refrigerator and now I am quitting my job to open my own shop,” she announced. I was so inspired by her discovery of the secret of courage, that I went immediately to my refrigerator and surveyed a world so scary I may stop eating cold food. I decided to incorporate The One Minute Rule. For one minute, I did what I could to clean up that toxic waste dump. Continue reading