Thursday, November 7, 2013


Where do the tiny rocks in my slippers come from?

I’m a barefoot girl in the warm months but for half the year here in the Oregon chill I wear big woolly slippers - the kind with thick rubberized soles on the bottom and fluffy lamb fuzz that wraps around my ankle. At least once a week I tuck my bare feet into them, take a step, and Ouch! It is princess and the pea time. An immense boulder, okay, a minuscule pebble that merely feels huge and boulder-like, has appeared inside.

The rock wasn’t there earlier so what happened? Space dust? Inter-dimensional travel? Invisible jolly jokers?

Dark magic must be afoot. Or at least underfoot.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Creams & Potions

Isn’t it amazing how much we humans need stuff to slather on our skin? We women soften, moisturize, and soothe. We remove spots, erase wrinkles, and soften rough places. We clear, firm, and lubricate as we apply the magical elixirs of youth and beauty. Nights and mornings have become times to smear and daub. 

There are concoctions that cost $50 an ounce. There are mixtures that can be whipped up in a home blender. 

Men laugh indulgently at the antics of women but sneak off to blot the gray from their hair and puzzle over the efficacy of a face-lifting cream.

Staying young looking is the name of the game. Too bad there isn’t as much time and money spent becoming wise.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

It isn’t just me. Is it?

As I’ve gotten older the strength in my hands has diminished a bit. Arthritis does take a toll. But not so much that I should find it utterly impossible to open a container of salad dressing. Or remove the top from a 1 liter soda bottle. Or turn the lid of a jar  -  you name it! What are they doing? Welding the metal to the glass and making the sodas impermeable to drinkage? (I know it isn’t a word but these days…)

I’ve watched folks much younger than I am struggle with these things. It isn’t just me and my almost seven decades old hands. The various tools for aiding the process, I have a variety, work sometimes. The other times I either weep or swear LOUDLY and himself comes to the rescue. He struggles with it but doesn’t yell quite as loud.

I’m having fantasies of the executives of companies selling these containers, along with the mad scientists dreaming those immoveable objects into reality, hungry and stuck in a food filled room where they are unable to open a single jar or bottle.

(Gleeful laughter inserted here)