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My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
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Created: November 4th, 2014 at 2:58pm
Modified: May 31st, 2024 at 3:07pm
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I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
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PROMPT May 26th
Complete the following sentence: When I’m in the mood to celebrate, nothing can stop me from ___________. Well, well, what can I write? What will be my answer? The too obvious reply is celebrating, isn't it? I mean if I'm in the mood I'm in the mood. How could I not then celebrate? Okay, that's far too simple. How about sharing it? When I'm in the mood to celebrate, nothing can stop me from sharing it. There may be enthusiastic high-fives exchanged, maybe a bear hug, or two. Yes, I realize not everyone would necessarily want to celebrate with me, but I'd most likely be insistent. My feelings of euphoria would want to overthrow all things negative. I can picture spontaneous dancing with jig-like high stepping and plenty of twirling. Yes, I'd probably link arms with someone and pull them along. Their stumbles would match mine. Silly, uncoordinated movements should provoke a reluctant smile or two. Right now, I'm humming, "Celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music!" Picture the delighted antics of athletes after they score a touchdown, or a basket, or a hole in one. They know how to celebrate. Of course, I'd accept and downright encourage cheering with a few loud 'woohoos' and 'hurrahs.' Singing out loud and off-key is also okay. If my fellow rabble rousers don't know the words they can fake it, or hum. When I'm in the mood to celebrate, nothing can stop me from expressing it. Oh, you'll know when I'm happy. You'll both hear and see me. I do, however, draw the line at executing somersaults, hand springs, and cartwheels. If those were at all remotely possible, I'd never stop celebrating. |
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PROMPT May 25th
What is the most useless skill you have? The most valuable? "Are you watching, Nanna? Did you see that?" I look up at Emily, nod my head and reply in the affirmative. She stares back and awaits some clarification. She wishes me to critique and praise her efforts. I murmur her speed took away my breath and she made the cartwheel look easy. I also praise her hard work and persistence, mentioning I could never execute such a bold move. With a grin, Emily cartwheels across the beach sand kicking up a cloud of dust. "What about those ones? Were they good? I ran and hopped for these ones. Mom doesn't let me do them at home." I again agree that she is talented. I'm impressed. I clap my hands and salute her. Satisfied, Emily runs off to the swings and for a few minutes there is silence. "Nanna, Nanna. Look at this. 'Member I never did this before? See? I don't fall now." This time, my seven-year old grandgiggle hugs a pole with her arms and legs and slides to the ground. She is correct. The summer before, she forgot the hug manoeuvre and always plummeted, hard. Next, she traverses the length of a horizontal metal pole, hand over hand. In the past, I held her wiggling torso up and supported her weight while she swayed along. Emily and I both 'see' her increased strength and we both beam with pride. Emily entered this world as a preemie, born in October, yet due in late January. She never finds it amusing when I marvel that she was the size of a pencil. I do add, the length of a new pencil, not a used stubby. After almost two months in the NICU, our girl arrived home for Christmas eve. Every milestone, every achievement is a victory. She is tiny, but determined. The above are cherished memories. Emily is now fourteen and a half. She can and does roll her eyes as only a teenager can. Sometimes, I am treated to the 'you're-kidding-right?' stare. She doesn't intimidate me. Her father tried those moves on me as did his two sisters. I am impervious, perhaps that is one of my skills. Another skill I possess is the ability to live in the here and now, in the moment. I spend time observing, listening, and participating in Em's life as well as that of her older sister, Syd and the newest grandgiggle, Alexandra. |
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| May 24th Prompt:Write about something awkward or embarrassing that happened in public. Have I committed an embarrassing faux pas in public? Have I caused mouths to drop open? Yes, yes, I have, repeatedly. One time, someone jerked me back and out of harm's way just before my head connected with a solid wall. Oblivious, I'd been leaning over an escalator as it approached another level in a mall. My people watching, okay, spying, had been too engrossing. Once in a crowded bustling restaurant, I insisted upon waving and gesticulating with my arms as I regaled with a funny tale. One of my errant hands struck a waiter passing behind my chair. I knocked a tray of ice water-filled glasses from his bushwhacked grasp. Instead of sloshing to the floor the water spilled all over his white cotton dress shirt instantly becoming transparent. He gasped and froze mid stride. I almost tripped him when I jumped to my feet to apologize. The poor guy smiled weakly through clenched teeth before he backed away from me. I could not undo what I'd done. My eldest daughter and I were interrupted in the ladies room of a busy restaurant by a sudden sharp rap on the door. The noise shocked us into a brief silence. A male voice enquired as to our welfare and announced himself as the manager. Customers had reported a disturbance, someone in distress. Okay, we were being loud and laughing, but did we sound as if we were in trouble? Were we really that boisterous? What could we do? We responded that we were fine, thank you, but when he walked away we dissolved into giggling. This was a repeat of a hotel stay in which the manager tapped on our door to caution our noise level. Oops! |
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| May 23rd Prompt: What is something you like to do that other people might think is "weird?" I've just returned from a day spent at my seasonal campsite raking a gazillion leaves and retrieving a billion fallen branches. I'm stifling yawns and resting my aching muscles. I swatted away a stubborn squadron of blackflies with each swath of my rake. I believe I've donated enough of my blood to these relentless buggers. Is my fatigue due to lower blood volume, or increased physical exertion? Hmmm, am I considered weird'ish? Do I possess eccentric habits? Does sometimes talking to myself count as strange? Do I speak out loud 'cause I'm often alone and I crave the sound of a human voice? I'm not sure I like doing this. It's a spontaneous act. I'm sorry, but I'm drawing a blank. Is it considered weird to apologize at this point? |
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PROMPT May 22nd
Music often has the ability to remind us of old memories. In your entry today, be inspired by a specific piece of music or a musical instrument. What feelings/emotions does the music or instrument stir in you? Share a specific memory your chosen song or instrument reminds you of. Mary stops to wipe a tear and remember. The inspiring song There'll Always Be An England causes her chest to heave and her pulse to quicken. With the sweeping drums, horns, and piano she is transported to her childhood in London, England. She grins and dances on the streets with her siblings. Mary is not quite sure what has happened, but everyone, all of her neighbours and her Mom are hugging each other and crying. She recognizes tears of joy. A few times, she has been swooped up into someone's arms and twirled all about only to be plonked back on the ground to teeter on unsteady feet. The gaiety is contagious. The non-stop noise is deafening. Metal pots and pans clang. Whistles pierce the air. Vehicle horns blare. The unmistakable strains from a violin float on the warm spring breeze. And the roar of the milling crowd is a constant. Every few minutes, a new song starts up and the boisterous mob belts it out. Cheer after cheer rings out and echoes off the brick buildings. Mary doesn't understand this spontaneous street party, but she likes it. Adults playing and laughing is a welcome sight. A man approaches with a camera and Mary and her older brother pose for him with their arms draped across each other's shoulders. Mary does not recall the flash of this long ago moment. When she studies this photo now, she marvels at her wide smile and instantly hears the revelry of the crowd. Years later, she comprehends the excitement of her fellow London dwellers. They were celebrating VE Day, Victory in Europe. The Germans had surrendered ending "hostilities." Everyone rejoiced the ceasefire. Londoners had persevered and the nightly bombings were no more. "Red, white and blue, what does it mean to you?" "Home," Mary whispers. |
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PROMPT May 21st
Not including your phone, computer, or other Googling device, write about the top five most useful items you own. 1. My two vehicles: A mini van and a pickup truck. Mass public transportation does not exist where I choose to reside. Travelling is self-serve only. If I wish to eat, I must drive a distance to shop. If I wish to visit family, I traverse the highways in one of my vehicles. If an accident befalls me, I drag myself to my trusty, reliable truck and beeline it to the nearest hospital. I cannot always call for an ambulance. Without my motorised conveyances, I'd be stranded. 2. My camper/trailer/home away from home AKA the Summer Oasis: This piece of aluminum and glass has hosted numerous get-togethers. It's an excuse to return home and socialize for my three adult children and three grandgiggles. This proved true. If we invest in this, they will come. Our retreat provides outdoor fun and a welcome respite from the interminable winters. Since I now reside in an upstairs apartment, the seasonal campsite provides me with a garden. I do my bit to feed the local ravenous insects, too. A groundhog and a flying squirrel claim squatters' rights. The rather rotund raccoon has moved on. 3. The Fridge/ Keeper and Protector-Provider of Most Things Edible: I believe this is self-explanatory, no refrigerator equals starvation. This appliance holds the key to all meals. The wonders within conjure miracles. It also lures the roaming offspring to visit. Within the confines of the teeny-tiny upper freezer I have set a booby-trap. Anyone pulling open the door is bombarded by frozen muffins and discouraged to browse. 4.My Digital Camera: This handy gadget permits me to create long-lasting memories and irrefutable proof of any and all events, excursions, DIY projects, injuries, and wildlife invasions. Its handiworks provide hours of amusement. 5. My Bed: Ah, this is my haven. I spend too many nights tossing and turning on this irreplaceable piece of furniture. Occasionally, I experience blissful slumber there. It serves as Recovery Station One. It witnesses my attempts at physiotherapy and preventative exercises. Sometimes, it cradles me as I lose all track of time immersed in a book. Changing the sheets creates an invigorating cardio workout.
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PROMPT May 20th
If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you choose? So, basically this prompt assumes I may lose some, if not all my marbles if I live to proclaim I am four score and ten. Also, the prevailing assumption is that a ninety-year old's body has perhaps exceeded its best-before-date. There's plenty of time between thirty and ninety to wreak havoc and mayhem. Sixty additional years of memory both muscle and cognitive. I believe I'm going to require a bigger brain and a new memory chip. I'll take the mind of a thirty-year old please. My knees were already protesting and refusing to cooperate when I celebrated our thirty year partnership. They never had any intention of carrying me for another sixty years anyway. If they must accompany me into the extended future, they'd be perfectly happy tucked up in a wheelchair, or scooter. Oh, right, they'd prefer an electric scooter with a parasol, they're partial to a green one, and a jaunty red flag, er, no, a banner. They don't care one way or another if a new, younger, guaranteed- to -function -as- an-always-youthful brain moves in and attempts to boss them around. They never obeyed the original brain either. I need this thirty-year old brain because I expect it will be malleable. I have plans to train it, exercise it, and well, yes, exploit it. By that tender age, it should not have been exposed to so many bad habits that it refuses to consider alternative solutions. I expect to witness some initial balking, but the added elasticity and flexibility will mould supple improved pathways. Like a fine-tuned motor, the neurons will fire on all cylinders. In sixty years, this brain will cover a lot of ground. I anticipate an engaging travel companion even if we don't always move in the physical sense. Meh, I can't fathom a thirty-year old body paired with a ninety-year old brain. The cerebral self would be craving constant power naps while the skeletal/muscular frame would be raring to go, anywhere, anytime. The joy and pride of a perfectly executed ski run would be lost. Why bother with a marathon? A tired brain may not comprehend or appreciate physical prowess. The youthful body could atrophy. What a waste. With advanced age comes the very real chance of confusion and memory loss. Where am I? What was I doing? Why am I doing this? My forever thirty brain will never tire of exploring and attempting new skills. In that sixty year span, I can and will manage the physical deterioration of my vessel/body. It will prove true that saying 'mind over matter.' I won't mind a glitch here and there because I will troubleshoot a solution. My rebellious knees will be surprised. During a sixty-year long stretch the thirty-year old brain will persevere. It will possess the certainty, the infallibility of youth. Shirking will not be tolerated. Stubborn will meet resolute. I'm looking forward to this. I'm not keen to be seen in a scooter even if the parasol is my favourite colour. |
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| May 19th Prompt:One year left to live. Would you change anything? What would you change and why? So, this is happening. My time is up? I'm not being renewed for another season? Huh, this is unexpected and disappointing. Three-hundred and sixty-five days do not seem like much. Well, the first decision I would make involves food and the enjoyment of all things food. It's said that you can't take some things with you, but I want to take my current body as is, current weight and all. Why fret about calories, or diet, or exercise more? There is no tomorrow for a sleeker, more flexible, stronger me. Cookies, cakes, pastas, whatever, I shall enjoy them.I will taste and savour more cuisine. I am not wasting my precious time and effort on a second knee replacement. That first experience ate up valuable time in recovery and rehab. Why endure that pain again? Let the surgeon find another candidate. For my final year, a limp is good enough. I do not plan to run anyway. My whenever has arrived. No longer will I postpone more travel. The bucket list will become a reality. My family will be invited to accompany me on fantastical trips that encompass the globe. Why not a month per continent? Of course, my journals will be finished and stuffed with all my memories and musings. Once again, I will request/suggest/demand that they be read and shared. Everyday will be celebrated as another final party/celebration. Stories and jokes are a must to gain access. There is always time for more laughter! |
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| May 18th Prompt: What chore do you most dislike doing? Tell us a creative story about how you might get out of doing it. Grumble, groan, shrug. I dislike cleaning the oven. I once owned, or so I thought, a self-cleaning gas oven. I set the onboard controls to clean and walked away. The unmistakable odour of imminent destruction lured me back to discover a glowing, red hot appliance, locked door and all. That experiment destroyed the oven's element. My current electric oven is toiling under a thick blanket of gunk. If I recall the worst culprit correctly, a double chocolate cake batter erupted in there like Mount Vesuvius. Oh, the dark roiling waves oozed everywhere. I dealt with it by sprinkling salt in the molten mess. Now a greasy charcoal armour encases the oven floor. I reckon the only solution is to find an oven-cleaning afficionado who will respond favourably to my baking inducements. Yes, I am forced to resort to bribery. First, I will need to ensure that the windows are open during a stiff breeze. Then I will strategically place a platter of freshly-created chocolate chip cookies next to that opening. Someone will take the bait and follow the enticement wafting around them.Once trapped, er, sufficiently lured, I will lament the sad state of my overworked oven. Imagine the quality, the flavour of future cookies from a clean oven. If you crave more treats, complete this one worthwhile task. Of course it goes without saying, but I will endeavour not to re-gunk the oven. So, who wants some delectable cookies? |
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May 18th Prompt:Fictional road trip with fellow 30 DBC bloggers? There's nothing like a road trip to open one's eyes and clear the ol' cob webs from the self-quarantine stilted faculties. Fresh air and scenery will revitalize us. A few smooth beverages will mellow us. I propose a cross -country excursion by motor coach with California as our destination. Let's hit the road SB Musing  Sumojo  Kåre Enga in Montana  Cheddah  QPdoll  Toffeeman1957 ! On board we'll put our collective feet up and sing ol' camp songs at the top of our lungs, off key, raucously, off colour.We shall imbibe copious amounts of adult beverages. Not that we need this liquid courage, but our tongues will be loosened. I for one have never visited California. Hollywood doesn't pique my curiosity. Are you ready to meander through a vineyard? I will arrange for SB Musing to be ferried about the grounds via wheelbarrow. No cane and stumbling for you! Perhaps we could all visit the vines in a horse-drawn carriage. I suppose we'd be too intoxicated and giddy to safely traverse the grape grounds on foot. Why don't we shuck our foot wear and dip our toes into a grape vat? How difficult can it be to stomp grapes? Will it feel like mud? I 'm not certain we need to be sober for this. We've all tasted and enjoyed things made with our hands, but with our feet? Let's get down and dirty. As writers, we write squelch, squish,splort, squirt, and more. Let's feel these descriptors. Our recovery day shall be spent relaxing on a beach under voluminous umbrellas. From behind our dark shades, we shall people watch undetected. We can always use what we witness as fodder for future musings.
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