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When do we loose that joy of life? The laugh that little kids have at the pure joy of walking. When do we begin to creak when we walk? Ache when we walk? Groan when we try to get out of a chair?
Over the last few weeks, I swear my warranty has expired on my body. Betrayed by back pain, allergies, and just plain general malaise. How did I let myself get to this state of disrepair?
It isn’t all bad but I often think of the comedian that said, “Why are people shocked when they look in the mirror and suddenly see a change?” “It’s not like you go to bed and wake up fat!”
Life comes at you fast. You might want to duck.
Back to doing stretching exercises and worrying about salt intake. Ciao
I always think of ‘Flight of the BumbleBee’ whenever I go grocery shopping. I hadn’t really shopped on a weekly basis for a long time and just recently started back up. (Story too boring to tell here). I find that I enjoy assembling things like diners, casseroles, and baking goodies. Who or what I’m feeding in such quantities, is still to be determined.
Things have changed. For most people, its probably not even noticeable. But hey, recipes 7 years old don’t have the same sizes. Canned goods have gotten bigger while meat cuts have gotten smaller. Try finding some of the ‘quick-n-easy’ pre-packaged stuff and it’s long gone. Guess it didn’t make it through consumer approval or something. I’ve been adjusting recipes like crazy. I tend to plod like a small tanker through the waters of the grocery store aisles while Power Moms flit around me like over excited ski jets. It looks like one of those commercials where the person stands still and the camera uses its trickery to make everyone one else fly around in hyperactivity. I often wonder, while slowly plodding along, what it would be like to make my selections competently and quickly. Aggressively barging my way up to the meat counter, commanding the help this way and that, barking quantities and types. My little mouse voice makes them lean over the counter to call me ‘dearie’ and question everything I say.
I tend to use the old, “I-have-no-idea-what-the-heck-I’m-doing” look a lot in grocery stores. I ask the butcher for help by telling him what I’m cooking and how. He gently asks a few questions and hands me what he thinks I need. If it fails at home, I could always blame the butcher.
Well back to pouring over recipes and not lifting the crockpot lid.
Ciao
It’s raining again. Pouring to be exact. It’s funny how fast the weather changes around here. Every day I come home to blinking clocks, blinking lights, and my wireless has yet again, reset itself.While searching through a pile of recipes, I came across a collection of my SO’s grandmother’s recipes. Stuffed in a little dingy yellow 3″x5″ card box, was a vast assortment of hand written recipes. I’ve started posting them over on another blog. The jello fascination, the vanilla instant pudding craze, and the down-right strange ‘canned corned beef’ recipes are fascinating in a deer-in-the-headlights kinda way.I hate when I misplace something. I become very obsessive. I’ve spent the last 2 1/2 days opening up every box, bag, and desk drawer in hopes of finding my house pics. I know I put them on cds. But I’ll be darned if I could find them. I’ve searched the same places over and over again. I once heard the definition of insanity, was doing something over and over again but expecting the results to change. Somehow if I continued to look in the same drawer, room, box, etc, it would magically appear there. Maybe next time or the next….
I searched the garage, knowing that the only things left are the things you need once and are afraid you might need again.
(Damn its raining harder…)
I searched the basement. Fought off a few spiders. Even resurrected an old PC. No such luck. Self-doubt crept in and I was beginning to feel crazy, like I was just kidding myself. I searched the kitchen. Like I would keep computer stuff in amongst the pots and pans. I pulled down boxes in closets. Even looked in the broom closet. I decided no more searching.
As I was eating dinner, I noticed a stack of boxes that I just knew didn’t contain anything but guitar pins, baseball stuff, and socks. But wouldn’t you know it, there they were. Four cds packed with my house pictures. I felt like crying.
(Damn, I might be floating out of here soon)
Ciao
First entry.. Thoughts… Nothing profound other than a lack of ambition, greed, and sex. Gotcha’ didn’t I? That 3 letter word gets everyone’s attention rather fast. I’m just sitting here in my cube trying to make myself work. Thinking that there must be thousands of these things.Had the darndest time convincing myself this weekend that I should be happy, could be happy about something major in my life.. The Greek dilemma where hubris before a fall, kinda roams around in the back of my head. I’m about to go thru a gluttony of consumerism and spending. I’m building a house. Not just an average house, but something extravagant for a person with no kids and only a SO. I’m having to deal with all kinds of strange conversations on the topic. What gives with people feeling they not only have the right to question you but then turn around and tell you it’s for your own good?? chuckle…
Ciao
Thoughts of an Old Fart 