I have spent most of my life fighting the battle of the bulge. I’ve done it for a variety of reasons. When I was young I did it because I was told men did not find “large” women attractive. Since I grew up in an era when it was more important for a woman to earn her MRS than her BS, this became a major issue in my youth.
As I aged, I fought the battle in an attempt to ward off the actual aging process. I come from the generation that said we should trust no one over 30.
A couple of nights ago I decided to ignore the falling snow and grill a kebob for dinner. The grill is on my porch. I needed to change from my slippers to a pair of shoes. I went to my closet. There was a pair of black shoes and a pair of brown shoes, both of which would have been equally up to the snowy task. The brown shoes are more comfortable. But I was wearing grey pants and a black shirt and black socks. As much as I wanted to wear the brown shoes, I couldn’t get the image
When boys are selling things at the store to raise money for a team or for the boy scouts, they tend to stand around joking, punching each other in the shoulders and looking as though the last thing on their mind is pushing their product. When girls are selling things for their team or the girl scouts, they seem much more focused on the task at hand and rarely let anyone go by without at least asking if they are interested in buying something.
No moral here. Just something I’ve observed.
Dunking? Torture? Yes, I could not be prouder of our current leadership. With Bill Cinton we debated the meaning of the word “is”, With George Bush and his fun loving puppetmaster Dick Cheney, we debate the definition of torure. I’d was less embarrassed by Bill Clinton’s cigar trick.
Poor Blue is going crazy trying to figure out how to herd me, Blondie, the three birdcages downstairs and the two birdcages upstairs into the same general area so she can sleep soundly, knowing her job is done. How do I tell her that even I can’t carry those cages up the stairs for her? I’m hoping she’ll eventually figure out that the birds are already in safe “pens” for the night and she can relax.
I picked up his ashes yesterday and now he’s home again. I feel both he and I can rest better now knowing he’s where he belongs with the person who loved him best. Blondie and Blue sniffed his ashes respectfully. And my Abdul bird has not said his name since he left us. I think she knows and is sad in her own way. She used to start every day calling him. “C’m here, T” she’d yell over and over till he slowly trotted by on his way out for his morning break. Now, she still repeats the “C’m here”
Sandals and socks in 40 degree weather…does anything else better indicate an Alaskan’s refusal to let go of summer?
Last week was a hard week for me. Not only was I attending a seminar entitled The Alaska Child Maltreatment Conference, but I finally had to send my little buddy of 15 years across the Rainbow Bridge.
At the beginning of the week, the only thought in my mind was, “What PR genius named this conference?” By the end of the week, the only thought in my mind was that all our children should have as much love and kindness in their lives as Mr. T had in his.
Mr. T didn’t always have it easy. He came to me
OK, so apparently the dogs take the left and middle side of the bed and I get the right edge if I cling closely enough. I’m glad we got that straight their first night here.
The newest addition to people who annoy me beyong human comprehension? Laura Bush. I don’t know why.