Not to beat a dead horse, but sometimes an evil horse needs it. I’ve whined before about my Netflix addiction and now I am in the midst of the worst break-up of my life. It’s demanded radical measures which may be just as scary.
For some time now I’ve had the sense that something important was missing. I checked and all my underwear is in place, my tires have been rotated and bills are paid up for another month. What could it be?
I changed my toothpaste, bought some bubble bath and toyed with the idea of quitting my job and moving to Nepal. But then I remembered I am retired and have no job. Does anyone know where Nepal is?
New Years Day was almost a disaster but in the end it was saved by my neighbor and serial good fairy, Brenda Chambliss. .
Feeling nauseous and fluey from a stepped-up chemo injection on New Years Eve, I couldn’t face the fare I have consumed with religious fervor for six decades. The black-eyed peas, cabbage and cornbread would have to wait. Then, at 4 p.m. Brenda delivered a package containing all that and more. There was baked ham and her special fruit cake made from crushed vanilla wafers right in the box. I must get the recipe for my next book. Even fruit cake haters will love it.
I went to bed at 8 p.m. on New Years Eve thinking how horrified I would have been 40 years ago to greet the new year without all-night merry-making sometimes bordering on the insane.
I was catching up with a friend at the supermarket this week and she asked what my new book is going to be about. I said it will offer ideas on how to approach the aging process from an angle other than just letting it sweep my generation away without a fight.
“Aging,” she almost spat in disgust. “I’m against it,” she said unequivocally as if discussing the H1n1 swine flu. She was obviously in peak condition and had just come from Pilates class. This girl wasn’t going lightly and I liked her spunk.