This week my friend Brenda gave me a new dishtowel to see me through the holidays; but instead, I decided to let it become the theme for the rest of my life.
Nel and I have been working on our new book which is tentatively titled “What the Hell?” It is about aging disgracefully. It was her idea and she’s busy painting little devils attacking little angels.
I was calling the book “Now, what?” but she said let’s just throw it all out there and call aging what it is – hell. I’m not sure my Daddy will approve, but “What the Hell”? I’m sixty something and he’s ninety something and I doubt he can catch me to put me over his knee any longer.
I’d love to say I’ve mastered the art of growing older gracefully but sometimes there’s just too much getting in the way – like arms that continue to wave long after your company has gone or hair that costs you that same arm AND a leg to keep it looking “natural” which means the way it was in high school. (My high school pals decided to go gray together, but they keep moving it back a year.)
At least you can hide the jiggly arms with long sleeves and the bad hair with hats or just go all the way with ‘’”faux
As I tried to find a place in the refrigerator for the Thanksgiving leftovers, I made an unsettling discovery. I’m pretty sure I have a mustard addiction. I counted 16 half used bottles of mustard in a freaky collection that is clearly out of control.
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).