Senior Lady Dating Manifesto

I'm looking for someone to spend a pleasant day with, who has a zest for life. We don't have forever; each day needs to have a little sparkle. Do you spoil yourself?

My day begins with thanks for another chance and a stretch to bring my soul back into the body followed immediately by coffee. Two hours later coffee and I are on the internet before I head for the gym. My days are lovely, my roads wind through tropical forests with sheer facing rock walls before showing me the ocean.

A handsome man to look into my eyes, who enjoys my wit and finds me attractive spells a fine afternoon, but a man with humor and candor makes a day too short.

The laundrymen listing all they have and what their friends have from the moment we meet are in the top five of those to avoid; what do I care? I’m not a young chick in nesting mode.

An interesting attractive man may command my attention for a while, but drone on and on without wondering about the woman you’re with becomes too braggadocio for my taste; I’m not a chick just out of the nest.

When your stories match his, you feel like you’ve met a male kindred spirit. You could do a freaking happy dance because you’re sharing your stories with someone who has the same sense of adventure. Little by little you question, disbelief dampens the flames of desire. Ladies, you know how deflating a liar is, right.

A man with a passion for almost anything, I prefer to the guy who lists his assets, upon deciding that those assets should be enough to attract you slides rather rapidly into fault finding, a constant complainer. Yuck.

I’ve had real love and I’ve had forever, at least forty-five years of it. As I recall, we built that a day at a time.

A man who loves his job can tell me stories about something I don’t understand; I’ll ask questions while admiring the twinkle in his eyes as he speaks, but he must ask about me. I don’t spew or interrupt a man waxing eloquent on himself. A man who doesn’t ask about the woman he’s with doesn’t care who you are; screw that and bye-bye.

A lively conversation, friendly banter and a bit of innuendo don’t mean a thing, but time well spent; I could enjoy that, but too many woe-be-gone faces want to tell me their problems. They remind me of a very talented woman who applied for a job as my secretary. I was liking her for the job, told her I’d call her, and on the way out the door she said, “I suffer from melancholia.”

Companions, partners, or mates should bring us up; some days we struggle to enjoy our day. Before we’ll help each other; we must care. Time well spent together brings that, so don’t tell me about forever; let’s just make a beautiful day and see what happens.

By the way, I’m a spoiler; do you know what that is?

It’s a woman who when she’s happy, she spoils you silly.  

The Saggy Remainder Years Challenge

Most days I know what I believe, I think about it quite a bit. On what if days, who knows what will cross my mind?

I can see myself as a fat old lady stuck on a broke island waiting to die, which is true or as the adventurous daredevil traveling to beautiful places alone in her spare time, also true.

In between all these good times, I sure can feel sorry for myself. There’s no getting over you, my darling, even after four years.

God, thanks for the opportunity to have the tribulations that balanced my trials. One’s life should be a wild ride; oh, the shit, you do over the years.

Opting out on children means you don’t get to be grandma. It was my husband I never planned on living without. This majorly sucks and how do I let go of the loss enough to enjoy the saggy remainder years of my life?

That’s exactly the challenge; make the best out of the remainder when every day is bitch or brag and the best may be a pain-free day. Our days no longer hold wide open promise; a day working in the garden means happiness.

Daily, my husband suffered physical pain but managed to love his life and bring joy to others; he was one of those guys. I’ve seen a great spirit live a humble life in torture. I can quit complaining. This is me shutting up, accepting the saggy, remainder challenge.

New Days, Old Ways

Game of Thrones, The Last Kingdom, and The Tudors are some of my favorite shows. Perhaps it’s my overactive imagination, but sometimes I picture the cast of our Congress in medieval attire and our president with a crown banishing and tweeting with abandon waiting for the beheading to begin or maybe it has and I just don’t know it.

In the age of political correctness, we held our tongues and made a stab at considering the other guy’s feelings. Some people took that rather hard.

Given our history, we should understand by now that accepting others isn’t easy and figure out how to get over ourselves, but no, we’re the snake eating its own behind.

In the beginning of the age of political correctness, we learned about how win-win negotiation might actually be better for everybody than the historic win-lose warriors adore.

Paying lip service to respect for your opponent, giving value to the other guy’s wants couldn’t have been all that difficult; could it? What’s the worse that might happen; we gain empathy? Or heaven forbid we appreciate the other guy’s point of view.

Humans considering the wants and needs of others would be so utopia, so Renaissance. We strive for an age of enlightenment; what the hell happened?

Elected official freed to tackle citizen to the floor, power broker sends witch who laughed at him to the stockade, and a first son declares, 

“Democrats aren’t even human.”

Lords and ladies in charge of public programs figuring out how to keep the lower classes barefoot, dumb, and pregnant. If they wore their regal garb, we’d see them for the offspring of aliens they are.

A return to the Dark Ages doesn’t benefit people. If the one percent, the lords have no respect for the needs of the serfs, what are citizens going to do about it?

If we, the people are going to have any power of negotiation, perhaps we ought to do it before robots replace us in the workforce.

Whose Utopia would it be if the 1% outsourced the rest of the human race?

Stay Focused

Is beat up on Bill Maher time over? Who else wants to get the last lick in before we call it enough?

We, the ninety-nine percent need to keep our eyes on the prize, to borrow a phrase. Don’t waste time fighting with friends because rich people want to hurt us.

Bill, a rich white liberal, who actually appears to like black people f---’ed up; he’s not a closet enemy. People who turn on friends ready to pick some bones end up friendless.

He referred to himself as a house nigger, so after the whipping, you’re going to school Bill that the word nigger originally a pejorative for Negro used by whites has been taken back and may now only be used by black people. Holy smokes, I didn’t know there was a memo.  

To me, the saddest thing in the world is to hear one black call another a nigger because that’s the worst thing he can think to call him. You know it happens. That word belongs to the devil, no good comes from its utterance.

Black comedians eased the sting and black people overcame the word, but continued use desensitized your white friends to the horror that word is.

That’s our word you can’t use it; when has that ever worked? Oh, please, he didn’t seriously say that.

I can tell you that the day after a Wanda Sykes performance the word nigger crossed my mind three times about no particular thing; it’s that kind of word, just like when I first learned fuck.

Good for us but not for you is a double standard that goes nowhere good. Oh, and just as a clarification point, do Latinos get to say, nigger? What are the rules on that?

We need to get all of the funds, pacts, and soft money out of government; stay focused like we’re all fighting the aliens.

As a comrade, if not a friend, and friend I hope, may I suggest the bitch slapping be done; remember a humbled friend is seldom a better friend for it.

People in the media will need our support to push for a national referendum to get graft (my opinion) out of government.

PEOPLE FOCUS

It Is a Big Deal

Sometime in my early sixties thoughts switched to retirement. As part of that process, one takes the look over the shoulder to see the accomplishments of a lifetime.  For me, it was the moment of looking myself in the eye to know that I had earned my respect.

So many things in life aren’t as big a deal as we make them out to be, but liking who you are at the end of your career is important. It’s not a number thing like he who dies with the most toys wins; they’re just toys. I’d rather have integrity than more money, but no mistake I wanted to earn a comfortable living and worked hard.

Over the years there’s always bad times, but I plucked along relentlessly. Earning a big salary may be its own reward, but spending years doing something I didn’t like never made me happy, so I followed the rule of love what you do.

Dogs have perfected the art of presence; in silence, they look at us and perhaps wag their tail with no obvious judgment. Since childhood, I have loved dogs; thank you, God.

After jobs and businesses I enjoyed, the last thirty years of my career I worked with dogs; what could be better? I played with dogs for a living until I ran a dog business that played with dogs, which is almost as much fun but paid better.

Nobody wants to leave a thriving business, but age ain’t easy, so you contemplate and consider before rebelliously declaring,

“I have another good ten years in me, maybe more.”

But the property and the business appraised at a tidy sum, so best think about it; it made so much sense to quit in time to enjoy life. My husband suffered from chronic pain, so he voted to go; we put it on the market and buyers came, but nobody could get a loan.

Bankers lead the news each evening, they called it, the “Great Recession.” Too big to fail, that was the slogan, followed by bailout and lay off.

My modest dog business didn’t count for shit when regular clients can’t afford daycare for the kids and dog, so the dog lived in the yard all day and other clients, I carried. My clients, my neighbors were upside down, as they called it, meaning they owed more than the property was worth. I wasn’t in that boat, but found myself working way harder for a lot less; it was an ugly time, I picked to absolutely need to rest.

We're beaten and broken over time, so when we’re done there’s no debating. I hated to give up everything when we were covering for banking crooks by decree of GWB and company because they caused my pain. Who gives a f---, right?

Greedy bankers invented new products to sell for more than it was worth, oops. We, the people, had to pay; I had to pay when I needed my lifetime payout, another oops.

The Dodd-Frank Act became law to prevent these same greedy bankers we bailed out less than ten years ago from doing the same thing to us again.

I am disgusted by a legislature that would consider repeal of Dodd-Frank. Does the abuse of the people need to become a real ass whipping before we say, “No.”

People in power talked around the problem until I felt dizzy, but superb performances from a stellar cast in The Big Short and Margin Call shine a light on the bad behavior of reputable robbers/bankers. These movies are the modern day equivalent of Redford and Hoffman getting the goods on Nixon.

What is my generation supposed to say to the next?

“Every generation gets its ass beat by government whores with fat wallets of big business money, shut your mouth and take it.”

Please, don’t. 

Impossible, Unlikely, Oh, No

Note to army: as long as you guys are out there under Martial Orders you can rape if you want. Or was it more of a get out there and rape somebody memo?

What democratically elected president of a country would say that? Officers may start with my campaign volunteers; they’re young and stupid.

Not many world leaders vie to knock the US President off the big jerk platform, but the leader of the free world butting ahead in line paled in comparison.

Young men murdered defending young women in Oregon; that’s too sad. Tell me this is just another day on planet Earth.

World events, the news reads like fiction. Can we own that something’s not right? Greed and stupidity rise from the swamps like a vapor taking over power and populace simultaneously; welcome to the age of the Atavist.

Republicans may trace back on ancestry.com to Atilla, but I’m beyond the pale unhappy with Democrats; the down the aisle difference of opinion doesn’t cut this schism. Everybody has kicked the can into the gutter. People are pissed.

Bernie is the only politician I trust anymore; in fact, I like the way he thinks, but he’s one person. When the government goes against the population we have tremendous problems, so scary we talk around them.

Lying and pot stirring replaced common sense and caring some time ago. Recent events seem like a return to medieval times with jousting for position and raping and pillaging on deck. A return to the dark ages with technology; what does that look like?

Notes with agendas float past on Facebook, saying dear white friend, I know with a bigotry list attached. Mr. Obama would not have been elected twice without the support of white people; these are the people you react with chiding lists claiming we don’t know how great a president he was. You’re bitch slapping the band. Do you think a single Big T supporter read it?

Smart people don’t kick their dear white friends out from under the covers; I don’t care how pissed about history you may be, you’re too smart to do that, right?

As a longtime Obama mama, the dear white friend post twisted my whiskers. Next, they’ll be telling whites and blacks that we don’t revere Gandhi because we’re not in touch with the Indian experience. Do you see how this goes back up the toilet?

A former Speaker of the House charged with pedophilia, again, while Congress holds a party dismantling protections to the environment and every damn thing they can. Choose black and white or living color, the image of them breaking it off in our behinds remains.

Greed and evil versus everybody else, epic battles dating to forever set the mold for continued battles if we don’t learn; angels, demons, and demigods only fight in the movies anymore. Why not us?

How does the working class grab hold of our government? How do we take charge? Historically a hero rises from the ranks with character; I remember John, Bobby, and Martin. I still cry for their loss. An LBJ about now would be welcome.

Rich people have to actually pay tax for the government to survive as an entity protecting the public good. As a middle-class business owner during the Clinton years, I complained when I wrote the check for my taxes, but ponied up and lived a good life.

Rich people ready to kill for the last quarter greedy doesn’t make sense any more than elected officials body slamming people to the floor.

Are they alien? Is something in the water? I have my own reasons for believing beings from elsewhere are here.

Things happen that people sitting on corners see, that if ever they got together Earth would learn something, but we all know it’s never going to happen.

Ancient family owned banks running roughly over unfortunate people would have more empathy run by humans. Educated Earth men know that the best agreements are the win-win model; win-lose always ends in a rematch.

I believe that people are better than this; that after so much fighting we put our fists down and make peace, so we can get on with life. Always, we made things work.

Who but an alien not depending on our atmosphere wouldn’t mind destroying the environment? All the Earth kiddies turn green and die and you don’t mind; what?

Take a Look

Old age, the new frontier of my life, I didn’t believe I’d live this long. With this coming birthday there is no politely thinking of myself as older, but somehow still hip or cool; I’m an old lady.

Goodbye days of admiring glances as I walk past; hello, nobody notices. I’m just another granny weaving my way through the crowd.

My brief escape to Condado and beyond gave me another glimpse into life alone and on the go. In this part of the story, I dined on the beach, straining to hear snatches of conversation, but couldn’t.

A repeating loud, phony laugh regularly caught my attention. Bitterness dripped from the edges of each ha-hah-hah and each time three. I heard the call for help from the next table, a family gathering of a man and a woman with offspring’s young families all dressed to the teeth, a fine legacy to be sure.

The family, the picture of success made me doubt the hollow laugh could come from there. I searched the water for cruise ship lights. Ha-hah-hah, there it came again a plaintive howl.

Affluent young locals laughed near the bar, while families or couples chatted at tables, some body language better than others; I saw no one who went with the lonely laugh.

Caught in mid-laugh, I saw from a wide open mouth, dry sound ejected; only the corners of his eyes confirmed the sadness, the remainder of his countenance radiated pride.

I sent a flicker of light in his direction as I wished to God for more nights with my honey.

A nearby couple caught my eye, you know the ones so into themselves that any contact invading their energy, they suffer. The waiter after receiving the order from the man in his fifties, who immediately turned his full attention to his lady, seemed stunned to be so completely shut out, so quickly; it was fun to see.

In restaurants, we commonly see people’s energy entwine creating a cocoon or you see the ones glancing about the room hoping for someone to relate to other than present company. I have never seen a couple create an energy vortex that looked like a black in a restaurant before; have you?

Soft light, club jazz, the hum of conversation, I scan the scene for clothes I like; a beautiful dress or a well-draped man demands notice. Simple outfits, the woman in black pants and an olive loose knit sweater and the equally lean man in shades of khaki, attracted my attention about two o’clock in my sight line.

The calamari melted on my tongue, the party of one at my table blissed out; I hate it when older people grunt when the food is good, but I’m afraid I may have.

I glanced at two o’clock which went dark, like black hole dark in a circle just big enough for them. This disconcerted me, but another piece of calamari calmed me down. The waiter walked past their table with the order; no energy called to him.

I trained in some soft tissue energy methods, which is why I can sometimes see or feel the energy. That’s pretty weird at first, for a long time I thought it had bullshit written all over it, and then, I felt it.

I’m not some crazy old lady telling you that these were aliens; no human couple I know could pull the light in around themselves achieving that level of privacy in public.

Believe me, I don’t want to be telling you that folks from far-far-away dined with me on Saturday, but unless technology exists to build personal walls what else could it be?

Am I crazy? This question surfaces now and again, but I don’t believe so; in less than a decade I lost my husband, business, nest egg, best friends, and now I’m an old lady. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say I’ve been through a lot, but healing.

Regular exercise and frequent travel feel positive; I mean I’m still fat and sad, but not as much. That’s way better than I felt before and I have hopes and goals again, so I believe in my mental health. Of course, side effects can be a bitch, so judge for yourself.

What seems nuts to me is taking away the needs of the poor for the wants of the rich.  How many human beings can look at another who hasn’t harmed you and say, die? People who become rich frequently give back; it’s the human thing to do.

Without someone to stir the pot I find people to be kind. Is it crazy to question those with the unfair advantage, who treat us as the next old tail they want to eat? Or is greed just another substance abuse?

With a short life expectancy enjoying my day became personal. Working people paid into the Social Security Fund, which is one of our best benefits for this time of life.

Am I crazy to believe that the aberrant elite controlling our planet aren’t like the rest of us because they’re not from here? It’s easier to believe I’m bat shit bonkers than that aliens have quietly invaded us. What do we do?

I mean, if they’re in a position of absolute power and they don’t like us, we’re screwed. We need to know who we’re dealing with before we don’t like the terms of engagement.

We should have evolved beyond oppressed masses and pagan parties at the top. Greed beyond the boundaries of satisfaction is not healthy or normal, like schoolboys running through a store grabbing. That’s the same shit that got us in trouble around 2008; we’re falling for it again. Doesn’t that seem too stupid to be real?

When times are good as they are now for the rich, people have fun, maybe, do something good for the community; who continues to plunder with full coffers? I’m not saying all greedy bastards are aliens, but something’s not right.

    

How About It

When things don’t make sense, when behavior seems too insane to contemplate, we must look outside the box. I know you don’t want to hear this on a day elected officials run amok in the halls of Congress, a school teacher rips off the head scarf of an eight -year-old student, a vacationing family is assaulted on the beach in front of their hotel by a man beating his chest like an ape shouting the Trump will stop this, or a woman shooting a man in the act of raping an animal. Yeah, I see where the last one could be tempting, but, honestly, a miss would have scared the stuffing out of him.

Tell me your life has gone to hell since the Great Recession, well, my world fell apart during that time when bankers bad behavior caught up with the rest of us.Normal creatures lick their wounds and move on; it’s hard as hell, I know. I lost my business, my investment, my lifestyle, and then, my husband died. I know what hair-on-fire feels like and pissed off runs around in the outfield.

Politicians photographed with gleeful, let’s stick it to them expressions doing harm to us; I mean, are they photo-shopped? Why do one thing after another against our interests, even when ultimately they hurt their own families? I lived in a Republican county; Denny Hastert lived down the road. I get Republicans; on many issues, I see their point. This is double bubble, toil, and trouble in green and with warts.

Soon I’ll be sixty-nine, almost ancient, but I feel like I did in the sixties when my friends died in Vietnam. Negative energy abounds and I struggle. But, older and, yes, wiser, I see the cauldron being stirred.

Life isn’t as good; I live on a pittance. In my neighborhood that’s a chronic condition, but we spend our days trying to make the best of it. Being kind or at least nice keeps meet-ups friendly or cordial. You’ve heard the expression: poor, but happy; let me introduce myself.

Before you conclude that I’m down on Republicans, let me tell you that a lifelong Democrat has quit. I’m not happy with them either. Baffle them with bullshit if you can’t impress them with brilliance somewhere down the line became both parties motto.

Why would we elect representatives toxic to us? Our representatives are neighbors; do your neighbors treat you like idiots? Sell off your kids playgrounds? Pay to play mentality benefits the rich and powerful; no doubt, but is it in our DNA or God’s plan that man upon becoming rich and powerful turns into Ivan, the terrible.

When you ruin Earth, what will you do? Hop a rocket to Mars? The rich and powerful, the all powerful Os knows even better than we do that aliens have been here. Even aliens have accidents; other than those, we are hardly aware of the signs that they’re here.

Children of Earth don’t become children of the stars while we’re busy behaving like Neanderthals. I’ve read the writings of the brilliant and hung out with the most humble. I’ve known crazy and seen evil and I truly believe someone is stirring the pot.

An ecosystem doesn’t purge itself, a forest doesn’t naturally burn unless it becomes unhealthy. There’s a natural point at which the snake stops chewing its behind or death ensues.

The rich and powerful exploit Earth like they have a getaway vehicle or they’ve lost control of their headsets.

How many ways could we be manipulated? Think about it. Fifty years ago we were in a race into space; what happened to that?

A new frontier would benefit this generation just as opening American did for our ancestors, but here we are wanting to dig more coal. What’s wrong with this picture?

Pause Ponder

Ouroboros, the symbol of infinity is a snake eating itself. Personally, I’m not a fan of the imagery, but I get it.

Tiajitu, the yin-yang symbol represents the diagram of the supreme ultimate; doesn’t that sound more useful?

So lately I’m seeing this negative symbol for infinity lie one of those obsessive thoughts that won’t go away. Where’s a good mood elevator when you need one?

Ouroboros, you don’t think I knew that name; do you? One of the first listings showed a video of a little snake in a dish aggressively munching on itself. Stressed snake devours its tail read the caption. Yuck, how dysfunctional, anyway that’s been on my mind. And they say dogs think in pictures, well, my cells have been in the configuration of a dog before, so maybe, never mind, forget it.

The stressed out devours their tail symbolism has me worried that the greedy also known as the rich and powerful are so dysfunctionally competitive and have no regard for the poor, weak, and aged among us.  

Don’t worry about your polluted water; we can filter it.

Don’t worry about coal dust in the air; we can sell you a pill for it.

Don’t worry about losing our national landmarks; we have a video of them in the national achieves next to extinct animals of the twentieth century.

The House passed the Trump Insurance replacement of Obama Care, which will impress the health out of his base; who, as in the case of his predecessor George W. be re-elected anyway because there seems to be no end to our stupidity.

The more I think about eating your own behind, the more the dysfunctionality amazes me. I mean, how does polluted air benefit the health and welfare of the rich. If we all die nobody wins, Kennedy knew that; I’m not so sure about the people in there today.

As a big fan of the Marvel movies, I’m reminded of the villain who says of earth, “If they burn, we all burn.” This post-film teaser has us walking out of the movie knowing those dumb assholes are going to do it anyway.

How much money does a person need? Why the insane competition to drain the rest of humanity?

Out of control, compulsive greed is not a healthy state for anyone. That snake’s chewing our ass. Mankind usually backs off when we’re bloodied to a standoff; haven’t we learned to respect the ass that holds up the head?

In 2017 would a ruling class believe it could return to the loved days of yesteryear in our feudal past and sharecroppers? Come on, educated people behaving like Marvel villains; don’t you find what’s happening in Washington and elsewhere a bit surreal?

Reagan had trickle down economics ending in the desert but tore down a wall. What happens when we’re fenced in; think about it. If life turns toxic for us, people historically rebel and, as the comic movies teach us, that’s only good for arms dealers, then we all burn in the same oven.  

People just aren’t that stupid. The ultra rich aren’t hurting; why the hate and disdain? Why whip out the lash? What’s up?

Elite people behaving like lab animals pressing a button for reward takes obsessive-compulsive to a toxic level.

All members of Congress should be tested for drugs and toxins immediately; who knows how they may have been compromised? All I know is I’ve never seen official behavior like this in all my years.

Aliens have a prime directive to prevent us from being aware of them, but as things will, they malfunction even for aliens. Stay alert. Believe your senses.

The comfortable rich snake isn’t hungry; what’s the stress? Don’t think me paranoid because I say it could be alien influence; I drove solo across the Dominican Republic. A paranoid couldn’t dare that.

How could earth breed this level of inhumanity after so many lessons? Answer: outside agitation; doesn’t that make sense?

What If

Can you be alone? They say it’s a test of one’s maturity. In the case of humans by mature do we just mean overripe?

During my forty-five year marriage, I found myself wanting to be alone at times, but never desired it as a chronic condition.

Lovely people live in my life for whom I feel varying degrees of connectedness. Only a few ever make it to the inner circle of trust status. I mean how many people do you meet whose company you enjoy enough to want to repeat the experience? Very sweet people don’t always have enough in common with me for the encounter to be more than a pleasant blip on my day. God bless them all.

Can people go mad living alone? Does spending too much time encourage eccentric behavior? We all have some things in common, but then our proclivities jump into hyperspace in a million directions. If we don’t have a companion to bounce things off, does the mind gallop far off in search of feedback?

Without that inner circle family of closeness, the strength of your center battles for survival until tempered or you go crazy, which is a scientific term for can’t handle it.

I see signs that cause me to believe aliens are influencing life on this planet. It makes me feel like I’ve gone electric boogaloo, but when I’m alone in public I see people focused on each other.

That seems right, huh? Moms and dads observe and react to active offspring, lovers coo, and cuddle or huff and fume; it’s all fun to watch, but I’m apart enough to notice what goes on in the space between people. Sometimes it looks like pixie dust; isn’t that nuts? Other times I see what looks like heat waves. Yeah, I know what visual effects go with low blood sugar; this isn’t that.

At my age all of this could be neurological, but what if it's not? Most of us believe that we’re not the only life in the universe. I mean, what if we just haven’t recognized their tracks in the snow or in the sky?

Wouldn’t an advanced race have improved stealthy observation and maybe travel to our planet over time? Could the gods that watched Rome be observing us in super stealth mode?

Being alone shifted my perception to the spaces in between us; there I see the anomalies or maybe I having a mini-stroke. If I’m being honest I have to own that possibility.

Rather than hang out with my mouth open, I look for effect. What’s different? Call me crazy, but people seemed more hostile. Sometimes I’ve felt it myself, suddenly I felt agitated, like don’t piss me off bitch. Without a nearby bitch, I thought low blood sugar; I’ve been there. When dark chocolate doesn’t help you’ve got to wonder, que pasa.

These little blips happen so fast like little tectonic shifts in the tropics frequently go unnoticed.

And then, maybe, my brain has ripened into mush; quien sabe?

The Trip

A month long trip should return with showers of stories, but I don’t care to reminisce. A storage locker of memorabilia made for melancholy days of remembering what my life once was. 

I was young. I was strong. I was smart. None of which I am any longer. No boo-hoo, to be on the downhill side of life I find is becoming acceptable. The skills I brought to my life mute with each year after bringing me through challenging  productive years. 

Boxes of letters from grateful clients praising how well their dog was doing after sessions with me bring a smile before dumping them in the trash. Stacks of winning dog show ribbons must go; what good are they? I’m on the letting go side of life. 

Kirt’s things give me grief, the man had a tool for everything. A gift of a few to a neighbor man where I stayed made another man happy. He, in turn, supplied us with boiled crab on the weekend. Oh, joy.

Tasty cracklins congealed in the arteries of my brain on the Sunday a  friend and I drove part of the Natchez Trace. Just think, a store dedicated to cracklins; I’m so glad I don’t live in that neighborhood. 

We toured old Southern graveyards with sections dedicated to Confederacy soldiers and others filled with the area’s landed gentry, fenced in crypts with ornate ironwork. Guardian angels open hands and wings to a loved one in the grave and in the middle of it all, sat a huge chunk of marble. The shiny surface with a simple cut edge demanded my attention. Looking up the hill in the afternoon light I shaded my eyes to see the name and dates on the tombstone. The sun ducked behind a cloud, in large letters one word appeared; DICK. My palms got sweaty. My eyes crossed. Good heavens, this is where the Dicks are buried. I’m ever so grateful to not be in the section where the Bitches are buried. 

The French Quarter, the Monteleone Hotel, and the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival deliver the people watching, the conversation eavesdropping I enjoy. Every writer yearns to introduce us to interesting or memorable characters, so there we were facing a crusty on old Southerner dripping with the nuance of place, who told us about the people populating his novels, one of which had won a Pulitzer. The other men wanted to be him, and, well, what woman isn’t enamored by a fine Southern man? Speaking of fine men, the ever charming Dick Cavett captivated the crowd; who with a brain doesn’t love him?

There’s an art to being alone in a crowd happily; moving to the beat of the music during the French Quarter Fest puts a smile on the face that others respond to, so I have thousands of momentary friends. Music, food, and a Chinese massage made my day. I've overdosed on people, most wonderful and charming, just too many, so return to a life with more solitude brings balance. 

Lightning and thunder lace the afternoon showers with special effects. I’m convinced more than ever that we’ve been invaded by an alien being or energy. Saw the signs, but they’re subliminal; how many of us catch the obvious let alone the obscured? This force affects people in odd ways. The stories make us shake our heads uncomprehending. You hear a story, but don’t realize the importance until later which makes putting these odd events together to form some sort of a picture difficult. Who knows; I could just be getting senile.