I walked down through the woods to the lake, sat on a log to enjoy the late afternoon breeze when I heard rustling in the brush near my feet. I looked over and saw a huge snake (yes, I know “huge” is a relative term, regardless, it WAS a snake) chasing something up a tree.
I blinked and found myself 300 yards away through the woods and back at my camper.
Beam me up, Scottie.
This morning I weighed myself and found that I’d gained half a pound. Later I stepped on the scale but this time I sucked in my stomach. I was still up half a pound.
So you get to a certain age and body parts don’t stay where they’re supposed to:
And then you realize that your belly shakes “like a bowl full of jelly.” Merry Christmas.
My everyday decisions:
Either/or, neither/nor …. Life is good.
Daily Prompt – Relish
: enjoyment of or delight in something
: a feeling of liking something
I seldom watch television unless I have some hand work that makes it worth my while to sit still; i.e., binding a quilt, crocheting an afghan, stitching applique or stuffing a pillow or doll. Or, if I’m lying on the couch because I’m ill and feeling sorry for myself.
Therefore, I relish binging on a good TV series. I don’t understand why I prefer a television series vs movies, maybe because I can stop after each episode and get up to do something exciting – laundry, dishes, floors, groceries, dusting; stuff like that.
Some of my favorites? Midsomer Murders, Ripper Street, Luther, Downton Abbey (of course), Happy Valley, Transparent, Viking, Reign, Longmire and now (drum roll, please) – Goliath with Billy Bob Thornton.
I’m making fabric dolls for my year old granddaughter for Christmas so I watched three episodes of Goliath the first night, three episodes last night and have timed it perfectly leaving two episodes and the final seam on the doll to coincide tonight. Maybe I’ll even have a hotdog and chips while I watch the show and try not to drip any relish on the couch.
I started babysitting when I was 12 earning $.50 per hour; $1 an hour for New Years Eve. I was allowed to start wearing lipstick when I was 13. So, the first thing I did on my 13th birthday was hit the cosmetic aisle at Woolworths. I bought a tube of “Blush Pink” by Coty and my first makeup base, CoverGirl liquid. Oh, and don’t forget a spray bottle of Evening in Paris with matching body powder. It was several years before I graduated to Jean Nate. That first cosmetic buying trip (I think I spent $8) was my initiation to gorgeous – or so I believed.
I knew nothing about matching my liquid base to my skin tone. I figured since I grew up on Miami Beach and was tan, that was the color I should use. I thought I looked beautiful when actually I had a kind of orange glow a la Donald Trump. I knew nothing about blending my base coat out toward my jawline and neck so, mask-like I went to school dreaming I looked like Twiggy. Did I mention that I have freckles and was chubby? You can imagine what my troglodyte “friends” had to say.
Fast forward 50+ years and I just wish I could supplement my retirement income with the $$$ I’ve spent on makeup — liquids, cakes, cremes, powders — Lancome, Estee Lauder, Maybelline, MAC, Avon, Urban Decay, Clinique, L’Oreal – you name it, I’ve tried it. In addition to my makeup base, I’ve spent a fortune on eyeliners, eye shadows, concealers, blushers, wrinkle removers, cover-ups, et al. And guess what?
While trying on bathing suits in a dressing room with a three-way mirror, I discovered that in a previous incarnation I must have been Reuben’s muse. The 16th century artist apparently loved chubby women. Hence, the term “Reubenesque”. My kinda guy.
The definition of “drama”? A day in the life of a tweenie.
Whining kid: “Mom, all my friends wear high heels to school. I don’t want to wear sneakers to school anymore. I’m not a little kid. You just want me to be ugly. You want me to be different. You don’t want me to be popular. You want me to be a geek.”
Me: “I don’t care what all your friends wear, you’re not wearing high heels in 6th grade.”
But, after another 24 hours of whining, pouting, tears and hysteria and noticing how she unsteadily navigated in the little kitten heels bought for her cousin’s wedding I caved.
Me: “I’ve given it some thought and decided that you are now old enough to make wise decisions. You can wear those shoes to school if you want, just like all your friends.”
The next afternoon I watched her hobbling toward the house holding her shoes in her hand and wincing with each barefoot step.
Whining kid: “Mom, you did that on purpose! You knew I’d get blisters from wearing those shoes. I had to go to the nurse’s office to get bandaids and then I had to line my shoes with toilet paper to keep them from rubbing and the toilet paper fell out of my shoe and people laughed and it’s all your fault! You ruined my life. I’ll never forgive you for this. Wait til I tell Dad what you did. He’ll divorce you and I’ll live with him and he won’t make my friends laugh at me.”
Me: “Sweetheart, I didn’t force you to wear those shoes. As a matter of fact I didn’t want you to wear heels to school because I know how painful they can be. I wear heels every day and sometimes I get blisters. I never want you to be hurt but I let you make your own decision. I think you learned an important lesson.”
Whining kid: “Yeah. You want me to be unpopular.”
And that, my friends, is the definition of drama.
The epitome of a good day:
Before
After
Wander Woman 