A TIME TO CHILL

It must be Sunday, 'cause I'm tired and wanting to do as little as I can possibly get away with. Can't believe I'm saying this - I've always looked at every day as an opportunity to get things done. And I'm not a particularly religious person, so I don't subscribe to the whole "day of rest" concept.  But I am learning to enjoy a good day of relaxation here and there, and lately that day seems to occur most often on Sunday. It's probably middle-aged ennui or perimenopause kicking in, but whatever the reason, I find I need more "down time" now than I used to when I was in my 20s and 30s. A nap here, a couch potato day there -- it's all good. So go ahead, youngsters, and have fun running on fumes. Me, I'm gonna pull off the highway and refuel.

Hot Shit

There are few things like a weeklong case of diarrhea to humble a person. Take it from one who knows firsthand. I've been having "watery stools" (one of the ways it's described on web pages) for a little over a week now, and I'm getting a very harsh (and smelly) message from my bowels that I am not in charge of my body. True, I may own it and live in it 24/7, and  I can eat right, work out, and get a physical every year, but that doesn't guarantee that I'll stay healthy. It makes me think about those poor victims of the recent tornadoes in the U.S.,  just trying to live a decent life when a tornado comes along and blows it all to pieces. Don't get me wrong, I'm not equating having diarrhea for a week with losing a home, but you get my point: life will throw curve balls at you and sometimes you just can't hit them, no matter how hard you try. All you can really do is duck and hope you don't get beaned in the head by the ball.

Poetry is hot, again!

MIDNIGHT

A tall man arrives
As the withered one departs
The two meet at midnight
Under a street light
They exchange a glance
And a handshake
That says more than words
Could communicate
Two ships passing
One to port, one to sea
At odds, from appearances
Both steadfast in their duty

Seeing isn't believing

Irony: Free wine samples are given out at grocery store to people who appear to be under the legal drinking age, but at the store's checkout a woman who appears to be in her fifties is carded when buying said wine.

Hot Stuff

Maybe I'm getting old (I am almost 50), but I'm just not as interested in acquiring more stuff like I used to be. Only a few hours ago, I saw an adorable purse in Target that a couple of years ago I would have bought in a heartbeat, and yet I managed to leave the store without it, opting instead to buy a box of sanitary napkins with the money. (Sorry, TMI, I know.). What is happening to me? Where is my urge to splurge? Has the recession taken the wind out my "sales"? Or have I finally gotten control of my spending? I dunno. All I know is It feels wrong, even un-American, to have lost touch with my inner shopaholic.  In this country, we're bombarded with advertising trying to sell us more and more stuff, the underlying  message being that we need it to be happy or complete. I'm not completely immune to this pretty persuasion -- I do enjoy looking at ads for clothes or shoes or makeup -- but  I no longer hear that little voice whispering in my ear telling me I need to buy any of it...
However disorienting this change in my shopping behavior is for me, it might turn out to be a good thing come September. I'm planning to move into a new home then, and the less schtuff I (and the movers) have to schlep from here to there, the better for everyone involved.

A Poem for Springtime

Upon arriving at the garden

An iron gate greets me

Gray and laden with scrollwork

Heavy guardian of beauty
I push upon it to enter

It resists momentarily, then cooperates

I gaze upon
A multitude of flowers in bloom

Roses, lilies, more roses...

A path of mottled bricks

To walk upon, to follow around curves

That bend like tulip stems

Bees rise silently from petals

And ascend into the fragrant air

How I wish I could live here

Among the flowers and bees!

I’d feed on the loamy soil

And drink from the brackish pond

And sing endlessly to the blue sky above.

Physical Therapy Good Cure for Swollen Head

If you're ever feeling a little cocky or smug, I recommend you hurt yourself. What do I mean by that, you are wondering? Am I advocating masochism? No. (Not that there's anything, ahem, wrong with that.) What I mean by that statement is that if you've ever been injured and have been to physical therapy, you will start to realize that you're not as strong and vital as you think you are. I should know -- I had a physical therapy session today for an elbow problem that's been nagging me for months now, and afterwards I definitely felt, well, humbled. When I looked around the room where I did my stretches I observed people of all ages struggling to do exercises that healthy people can do without any real effort, and it hit me: I was one of them. Suddenly I no longer thought of myself as the eternally young, invulnerable person that I delude myself I am most days. I also realized that I must get exercise on a regular basis to get well and stay well, even though I'm thin and healthy. And that wearing loose, comfortable clothing and shoes while exercising makes good sense, no matter how dumpy and frumpy and they make me look. Yep, I need to take care of my body, since it's the only one I'll ever get. But the most humbling thought I had after physical therapy today was this: I will spend hundreds of dollars on stretches and massages I could probably do myself at home, and I'll still end up with the same sore elbow I started out with. Ouch.