This post is a jumble of word mess. Notes I've made of thoughts - tiny thoughts I never quite developed into bigger thoughts.


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What the heck is wrong with people! My credit card was compromised the other day. Someone in Fresno, CA tried to get a $600 cash advance. I've never been to Fresno and the only things I know about Fresno are best not repeated here. What a nuisance. A new card was over-nighted. What the heck is wrong with people!



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Ahhhh, the mysteries of life. Why do I continue to get ads for penis enlargement?



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Well, now that I've relinquished all control regarding my lifespan (Good God - I'm such a knucklehead to think I ever was in control. Yeah, well, welcome to my merry-go-round), I'm going to dust off a project that needs some sprucing.

I wrote a novel in 2005 or so - a lifetime ago. The storyline was nifty. Um, the writer wasn't. I got nibbles - actually several serious nibbles, but no big bites. I even rewrote the entire manuscript from 1st POV to 3rd POV. I was annoyed when an agent made the request, but he was right - it became a better story. Unfortunately, the writer didn't improve.

I recently paid someone a modest sum to critique my book. Essentially she noted that I used the word *donkey-nose* too much.

*sigh* what a prissy-pants.

So, that's my project. I'm going to literally clean up the manuscript - not to submit anyplace, but just to do it.



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The other day a friend left this comment at my blog:

I'll never forget a New Yorker essay I read some forty+ years ago: the author wrote that what makes his own mortality bearable is the thought of his sons and their sons turning their freckled faces toward the future -- or words to that effect. We never disappear. We continue our lives in different ways when we're not around. People we touch, stories we write -- all linked to you, they remain part of the fabric of life.

My response:

Nina, that's it! That's precisely how I cope with the acceptance... by projecting. I have my moments of sad, but in all truth, they're rare... thank goodness. The very most painful part of all this is knowing my children's struggle with acceptance. It's such an honor though, to witness their love for me.


The struggle of saying goodbyes isn't limited to children. Not all of us have children. I believe our pets are extraordinarily intuitive during transitions in life. There are also brothers and sisters and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles... and beloved friends who have become our bonus relatives.

I know I'll be missed.

So, I think I need to do something about this, and I think I've come up with a brilliant solution. I want to be missed, but I'm distressed with the sadness it especially brings to my children.

How can I change this? Hmmmmmmmmmm.

I could start belching thunderous belches in public places. Run down Main Street naked! Pick my nose at the dinner table - or anywhere for that matter. I could start talking in Tourettes-speak. I could yell at my children. I could yell even louder at my grandchildren. I COULD JUST START YELLING. I could start kicking puppies and kittens. I could start hollering *fire!* in public places. I could make crank calls. These are my initial ideas. I can hear my children now, "Whew, thank God the lunatic is gone!"

But then they just might say what I always say about my own mother, "My mother was a lunatic, but she was my lunatic and I miss her every day."


I'll keep on thinking of ideas. I just don't want my children to be too sad. *sigh* It's unavoidable. I miss my mother every single day.


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The following is a response to a friend's blog:

It hasn't taken *old age* for me to disappoint people. I've struggled with that element my entire life, so it seems. By writing the following, I'm not looking for compliments. It's just been the truth of my journey - the assumptions made of who I am.

My book jacket if you will, has always been deceptive. I've always been attractive, and it never meant a whit to me. Beneath the exterior has resided a studious, serious nerd.

It wasn't until my early 40s that my inner voice emerged and started to splash the world with tsunami force. I also honed my humor, which over the years has served as a coping mechanism.

There is a point to all these observations. Over and over and over again I've disappointed people who assumed I was someone or something I wasn't. Nothing about me says Housewives of Beverly Hills.

So, growing older with droopy jowls and an even droopier ass doesn't faze me in the least. I'm no longer a traffic stopper and glad for that. I like melting into a crowd, and was able to do that for many years until I had to start clanking my oxygen around... like a cowbell.


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I'm a little blue tonight. Cranky, too. I can't remember the last time I was blue. Seriously. People might assume I have lots to be blue about - and I don't.

I'm annoyed about something and it's a wasteful use of my energy.

I'm just a bit cranky tonight.


Below is a photo of my sister and me taken in the 1950s on Easter Sunday. We were quite the fashion plates. This made me smile again.






Thanks for stopping by to roam through the random of my days.

Love.