In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
I don't remember the last time I was outside. Just sitting. Just doing nothing. Well, okay, except for doodling words with a pen on a piece of paper. About, of course, nothing. I'm sitting on a beach chair on the front stoop. The mama is sitting in the back yard deadheading her pink daisies. The husband is standing in the front yard hand-watering the lawn. Uhmmm, that spray feels good. Me. I should be making dinner. And, I shall in a while. For now, I just want to enjoy a pause. I've been cooped inside spinning words and sentences into short, but clear and comprehensible paragraphs about stuff I have already forgotten. It's best to do that when you work on reference books. If I had retained everything I've written about in the last 13 years, my gosh... Ka-poosh! The sound of my brains exploding. Splattt. Splutt. Spposh. The sounds of my brains splashing on the walls and ceiling. Ah, yes. Imagination is good to have at any age. Now, I must go make dinner for the cre
Uh-hmm. Is that how you spell the sound of clearing one's voice? Ah-hemmmm. This morning I was making the husband's side of the bed. Nah, I'm not the bedmaker. The husband was making up my side of the bed. That's how it was today. Tomorrow may be different. Anyway, I didn't see it right away. The white strand of something that was floating above the husband's side of the bed. When I did finally saw it, I climbed up on the bed and laid down beneath it. "Look, look," I said, then pretended to snore the husband's snore so the white strand floated upwardly. I did it a few times before he caught on. So, what did we do? We laughed for a long time. Wouldn't you? We decided that white strand wasn't there when he got up. He would've sheared it right off, as it was hanging quite, quite low over his side of the bed. Whatever made it had at least an hour to spin that thick strand of cobweb from the lamp to the top of the 2009 calendar that hangs
One: Slice a mango. The other day, the mama bought a box of mangoes from a guy, who might not have a license for selling boxes of such beautiful fruit on the street corner. The mangoes are huge and delicious. It's a pity, I mangle them when I slice them. Two: Uh, I forgot. Three: I forgot that, too. Slicing the mango? Definitely, should learn to cut one. But will I? Maybe if I say "Ought to learn to cut one." The way I phrase things makes a difference. I may actually learn to slice it. This old dog can still learn new tricks. I learned for instance that if I had said this instead: "I might actually learn to slice it." I would not learn to do it at all. I'm not kidding. The husband gave me this link the other day so that I would understand the difference in usage of may and might . It's rather interesting. Did you know that might is the past tense of may ? I may have known that at one time. Yes, I just might have. Now, I should go look up how to s
Today's letter is E . For more E posts, please click here . I've just only settled into a writing groove when it's time to go to the kitchen again. About eight years ago, the Mama's health was failing because of poor nutrition. All she wanted to eat was cereal or frozen waffles and 2% lactose-free milk. Thank goodness for milk. Maybe if she didn't work so hard and long in her flower and vegetable gardens, she could've made do. But, the Mama can't stand still. And, as we all know, when we live alone, we pretty much eat what we want to eat and when we want to eat it. So, about eight years ago, it was quite obvious that her high-carbo, minuscule protein diet had taken its toll on her body. The decision wasn't easy for everyone involved, but it was made. The mama, the husband, and I became roomies. Today, the husband and I seem to spend a lot of time in the kitchen every day. Me cooking; him washing dishes; and me, him, and the mama eating. Most days, three
Warning: This post is really about nothing. My first try was 9 seconds. My second try was 20-something seconds. My third try? Ah, a full minute. Pretty good for a heavy-set old lady balancing on one foot. My left foot, too. And, that isn't even my dominant side. "What are you doing over there?" asked the husband as he was washing the lunch dishes. "I'm seeing how long I can stand on one foot," I said, setting the timer on the refrigerator door. "Why?" he asked, not turning around. "Because you never know when our survival depends on me being able to balance on one foot." He laughed. Of course. I did, too. "When could that happen?" "Say a crook holds us hostage in a bank. He'll only let us go if an old lady can stand on one foot for five minutes." "Like that could happen," the husband said, rinsing the dishes. "You never know," I said. "I want to be ready for any event. There could be a Surv
I believe that the husband and I have slipped into another level of the old rooty-toot fogeys. Friday, no Saturday, was food shopping day. I pulled into a space in the parking lot, opened the door, and saw what looked like sand-over-dried-crud on the ground. Sighing, I carefully placed my feet so as not to touch it and hauled my heavy self out of the car. "Yuck, dried vomit," I said. "Spilled drink," countered the husband. "It's all over here, too." I thought about moving the car, but let the moment past. I took out the grocery bags from the back seat and as I slammed the door I saw another one behind the passenger's seat. "Can you get that bag on your side, please?" The husband did, which meant first opening the front door, next unlocking the back door, and then fetching the bag with his bum arm. Now flash forward about 25 minutes. After loading our bags into the trunk, the husband and I noticed the front passenger side door wide open.