Each year at Thanksgiving I’m reminded to begin the endless search for a journal for the New Year in which to record my brilliant, yet somewhat jaded, reflections. This year I bought a plain ole black book which I think was designed to be an artists sketch book…significant I believe, since I will use it to sketch out the life I’ve been chasing for more than 60 years. (and haven’t yet caught).
By now you know that my book “Love Laughter and Losing My Keys: A Boomer’s Survival Guide” will be out next week. So I’d best be about surviving this stubborn cancer bugger lest my book title go down the drain with my book sales. The big question is NOW WHAT?
I let the stupidest non-issues get on my last nerve and turn me into a raging termagant which, for your information, is the female version of an old curmudgeon.
Remember that word “termagant” because if you’re female you’re probably carrying the gene. The condition begins to present itself with advancing age and loss of the inhibitions which once kept us civil and gave us the reputation as “sweet young things.” The aging beauty can turn into the beast if you get her riled up. But hey, it is what it is, right?
Today was the coolest August day I can remember in my whole life which is pretty vast. I spent the day on my back porch with my doors open and AC OFF. My depression melted into the crisp summer sun – yes, crisp and summer have never gone together in my Mississippi. Today it did.
That, and Ugg, made this day spectacular. A small kitten was sitting on my side stoop when I went out to pick up the paper this morning. She streaked away like lightening. Two hours later (when I was dressed and got made up) she had ventured up on the porch. I guess I looked like an acceptable parent with makeup. Continue reading
Oh yeah, I’ve been on vacation this week and that’s why an earlier post was actually written last week when I was all pumped up about trying to get healthy.
Then on a whim I decided to take a vacation and do SQUAT. Squat just barely exceeds scant and it’s not much. In fact, in my world it’s NOTHING. That’s not me at the left – her robe has no tomato soup stains.