Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Wait for me!

As I've hit the 65plus age mark it seems that I cling a bit closer than ever before to schedules and plans. Being flexible used to be easy. Intent upon accomplishing some project or approaching my tasks in a certain order, if something through a wrench into things I found it easy to stride off in another direction. No problem!

Those days seem gone forever. There is comfort in knowing what is coming and when it is getting here. I work to keep my ducks in a row knowing that if one wanders I will either not notice or find myself concentrating on that one as all the others waddle off unsupervised. Changing schedules "on the fly" has become much harder to do. Once upon a time I could cheerfully abandon a days plan to be spontaneous. Somehow spontaneous has become a foreign concept. It brings up a knee-jerk emotion rather akin to a volcanic eruption - one I need time to acknowledge, mentally grasp, and finally process and deal with.

Living life a bit slower helps my brain have time for catching up with the world. Why is it then that around the time I reach where the world was - it has sped off to leave me in the dust?

Sunday, July 8, 2012

This weekend

Is your world as full of tchotchkes as mine? What, you don't know what a tchotchke is? I'll bet you have some, on a window sill, in a drawer, gathering dust on a shelf behind some other things or tacked to the wall over a seldom-used desk.

Tchotchke is a Yiddish word for trinket or knickknack. It could be that little figurine of the Eiffel Tower your brother brought you back from Paris or that pretty little agate you found on the beach in Monterey. It is that tea box figurine of a frog or the small glass heart that caught your eye in a junk shop. Whatever it is it has been gathering dust between your occasional fits of cleaning. You pick it up and think about tossing it out but somehow it is always easier to twitch off the cobwebs and set it back.

They gather and multiply over the years. It gets harder to remember what sentimental impulse has kept them on the shelf, has packed and moved them from apartment to apartment and house to house. They've become the background you live with.

Mine have multiplied like yours but every decade, sometimes more often, I look around and realize that some of them have no attachment to my life anymore. I toss a few out, give a few away, pack a few for storage in the attic and yes, dust a few off to return to the shelf.

Monday, July 2, 2012


I'm terrified of spiders. Not scared, paralyzingly horrified. I've managed over many years to learn to admire them from a distance - preferably a long distance - but up close and personal the result tends to be jumping, screaming, and writhing.

So imagine my reaction when just a few minutes ago a spider descended from the ceiling about a foot in front of my face. It wasn't a HUGE spider. No dinner-plate sized bored eater or palm-filling tarantula. Neither was it a recently hatched speck that could easily be mistaken for a mote of dust on my glasses. My scream suppression unit kicked in… Himself can thank me later for that… and there may have been a brief flash of a pause within my brain but essentially survival mode set in.

Let it go? Heck, No!

I'd spend the day wondering where the miserable wretch was crawling.


Impossibly, both hands reached up, arced back, and clapped together.

Ex-spider. Realization of what had just happened. Shudder. Gasp. And a Lady Macbeth imitation.

I'm still quaking and (hopefully?) this is catharsis.