...quiet, about a lot of things...

I think when I'm done on this plane, I'll be, for the most part, done. I may check back with those I love, give a sign, lend a hand. But I really doubt that haunting would be a hobby I would pursue with much gusto.

Sure, I'd like to rattle some cages while I am alive. That's true. But I'm hoping that by the time I've expired, that phase will have passed.

I think to haunt, you really have to be pretty pissed off about something. I'm scanning my life to see if there is anyone I feel the need to torment. I'm coming up with no one. Certainly I have been wronged before.I've been hurt and mistreated just like any other future bodiless soul. But even in the doing of it, even in uncovering malicious intent, I have never managed to hate someone. Yet. I guess in that respect, I have been really lucky.

Or it could just be that I really do believe that it is all just part of the life we get to live here, as mortals. For joy there must be sorrow, for pain their is always pleasure. So for love, there should be hate, right? But what if that's not right. What if hatred is missing the mark, making a mistake, misunderstanding the situation. What if we are all on the same trip, returning to the same home.. Returning to good?..Some of us on the fast track..some of us having to do a little more heavy lifting..

Oh, I don't know. And I suppose this points out why I would be a really bad haunter. I think I will be much more interested in learning some answers..than I would be in asking the same old questions...I haven't the foggiest what will come next..after I die.

But I hope it will be time to try a different neighborhood, or a new flavor of life.


For more Haunting feelings...glide on over here...

Below are just great random clips.....

First one..THE BEST example of the people I call my Eventer Friends...technical aside..if you come off cross country..its 20 points added to your score..(bad...at Rolex..even worse...)but if you stay on...you just have to deal with the extra time it took to stay on...

Second one...Come on...How could you not love this!

For a more serious and thought provoking post go to Joyce's site..
God, does she rock, or what!?

They opened an Apple Store closer to my house. This is good only in that I don't have to drive so far to buy replacement parts for the various IPODS in my family...or to have some arrogant techie nerd wipe their memory for me..so I can start again.

These people are like pushers really. Pushers become much loved by their fiend clientele. They hold power by the balls.

Ya, know it all started innocently enough, with the children. Maggie was the first to NEEEEEED an Ipod. Had to be an Ipod..no "no name" mp3 player. She wanted the whole enchilada. Then Rach,followed. Soon I was having whole conversations with them...getting no response. I perfected my crisp picking pinch, grabbing at white wires embedded in my girls ears. I had to repeat myself endlessly.

Really they were starting to look like robots. Devil spawn.

Then Christmas came. What harm, to get Michael a shuffle? He's constantly air born, and tethered to his laptop. He has always declared he is not a "gadget guy". He protested too much, I fear. I soothed his fears, "Hon, it's only $79..give it a try...you'll like it" as I placed the earpods lovingly in his ears. With a sly smile and a lingering kiss on his cheek, I pumped Red Hot Chili Peppers into his virgin canals. He was hooked.

I was the last hold out. But, now this is really sort of comical...The clippy feature of the shuffle got me. I ride what are called "Freestyles" or "Kurs" for dressage...horses and music..sometimes referred to as "Dancing with Horses". The fact I could clip the shuffle to my belt..and not have to worry about it falling of during a canter transition...finally the siren call to which I succumbed..strange huh?..

Thus started my addiction. First, I noticed that dishes got done a lot less painlessly with the Dixie Chicks singing sweetly of More Love and Top of Worlds. OK..Then, when my daughters decided to go at each other like wild kingdom...I could just let Bruce take me by the hand and I was off down Thunder Road. Cool. Plus, my hybrid has a docking station. Neat. Don't worry, I told my self naively, I'm am still in control...See, I was really an infant when it came to the technology. I'd simply copy my cd's onto my little tiny hardrive....

But then Maggie turned me on to itune's. Game over.I was lost.

All this became crystal clear yesterday..when tail between my legs, I wandered back into the apple store to buy YET ANOTHER stupid docking station...bastard..as mine is on the fritz..again..(AND no, my foot smashing it into the carpet..had nothing to do with it, thank you very much!!!).

I tried to live without it for a whole month..charging my little shuffle, whenever Michael was home and he was always gone soooo long....but I couldn't take it anymore. I was Jonesing in a bad way...

Only once I was there, did I see the real evil.The much publicised GATEWAY effect. For, while waiting for the pompous 20 year old "clerk"..oh, I am so sorry, "SPECIALIST"... to ring my purchase into his handheld gizmo..my eye DID happened to wander over to the new shiny LAVENDER shuffle..ooOOH, how pretty..and look at this new Nano..wafer thin....well..throw in an Itunes card...It's been such a long time since mama's got some new tunes...just a few new tunes..

Lord, how I am in need of an intervention......

This was a hard prompt for me today. Horses mean so much to me. I have zillions of poems in me about our connection..Though I haven't seen them in a week. In midst of a lovers spat.

I decided the prompt called for a tone that should be about a moment of horse..not me..and couldn't come up with anything. This was as close as I could get.



Schooled

I.
It's good that the man underneath the cowboy hat knows me. He has stitched and healed my most precious flesh.Maybe it's because he has watched me hold his needle,and study his hands as he sews.Perhaps that's why he trusts me, respects the curiosity, when I ask if I can watch. He nods and stands me just out of danger, yet close. To feel the steam. To catch the scent.

Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure I know all about this.


SCHOOLED

The mare is copper red
sleek with sweat,cloaked
by steam rising hot.
Never have I seen her
so focused, intent.
She quivers as she tests
her hooves, prancing slowly,
like a runner before the gun.


The stallion is
unrecognizable to me.
Bigger than his flesh,
drunk in his power.
Head high in flight to her.
He would have her with
a tiger on his back.
He will have her, with
ten tigers.

There is no love.
She does not go quietly.
He does not woo or ask permission.
He only pauses to avoid
her kick. Then, in a fierceness
that makes me swoon,
she is his.

The weight of him anchoring
her, while he still has the strength.
His teeth in her mane. Blood slowly
down her neck. Heads bent
in parallel lines, in tandem,
eye to ear, to almost eye.
No bridle, no bit.
It is over when it's over.
No apologies, like men or dogs.

He loses balance,spent.
Still with sense enough to
put distance between them.
There will be no leaning
on her now. Her last
buck catches only the air
where he had been.

But, he is quick and gone.
He backs unsteady. Steps away,
still huge, in no certain rhythm.
She shakes her mane and plants her feet.
One. two. three. four.

wlf 10:38



There are different ways of doing this..deed... but that is a whole other story.

Be sure to join the rest of the herd over at Totally Optional Prompts.

First a totally unrelated, and therefor,deeply entangled side note:

I am hear by calling a moratorium on any more pictures of me on this blog. I used to be wildly opposed to this practice..But seeing that it is October..I have found my obsessed with my face and all it's changing topography. Always happens to me this time of year. I am so tempted to rip them all down..But that would be a lie. Like saying I never have these moods...and I do...But ENOUGH ALREADY! I'm sick to death of it.... Now let's get on with the show..


I've been in need of some serious distraction lately. So yesterday I went to the movies at 12:20 in the afternoon. By myself. I used to do this all the time, when I was just me. I would sit and watch the dreams go by, without the slightest twinge of guilt.

My daughter had seen ACROSS THE UNIVERSE and told me I should see it. So, I did.

I loved the movie. Many will hate it. I was blown away. There is not much of a plot..Boy leaves home. Boy meets girl. and so on and so forth. But that is the plot of my life..so why belittle it? The movie is contrived. Again, so what? It presents the lyrics in a way they have always been most profound to me..as poetry.

The music dazzles less than the words. Most times, just the way I like it. Man, what a body of work. Amazing.

I'll link to the trailer...If you go and see it..cool...If you hate it..oh well. No harm, no foul.However, that is not what this post is about. It's about my experience in the theatre.


I walked in to find one other person in the theatre. A man, probably mid 50's with short grey hair..(Why do all men in my life lately..have grey hair?)He seemed a bit surprised to see me..and I was a bit surprised to see just him..

I took my seat about 6 rows behind him, slightly askew, so I could watch his profile, and the screen at the same time.

The movie started. I watched him, I watched the screen. Ten minutes later, the third person, a lovely silhouetted women, again in her 50's (I think) slid into one of the rows between us. She sat slightly askew, also. We formed a lopsided triangle. Flying in some kind of odd formation. The leader and his wing men..um girls... um..women.

I noticed some things during the movie. Women of this age have pea sized bladders. The silver queen was clearly frustrated with the need to relieve herself in the middle of the movie. Both of my companions had popcorn, and soda. I had nothing...I knew that being here when I should be somewhere else, was enough of a sin. (I also know better. I hate missing parts of movies.)

The man was squirming a bit in his seat..clearly feeling the same urges..but unwilling to succumb. At certain scenes he would run his hand across the top of his short shorn grey hair. Very sexy, uncensored. He had clearly forgot I or We were even there. He was swept away. Very cool.

I watched as the silver queen swayed her head to the music. So incredibly beautiful and alive.

No one was behind me, to observe me. I was the end.

I am the end. Of the baby boomers. The last year of their kind. I was four in the time of this movie. The time of the Columbia riots. The time of dropping in and dropping out. Instead of living it, I had absorbed it, in my tang and grilled cheese sandwiches. It filtered in my ears as I drifted off to sleep, my mom ironing shirts and listening to the news of Martin Luther King's slaying. I had no idea that it was just a piece of time. To me it was the world. I closed my eyes and napped to the sound of choppers and odd sounding words like Napalm and Saigon.

The two in front of me had probably lived it in the action. Been there. Done that.
But we were both there, and here we all sat. It was a wild ride.

I came back to find my daughters already home. I thanked Rach for her recommendation. She asked me who I went with, the idea of going alone, clearly not formed yet. I told her I went and hung with my hommies..The boomers.

This year my daughter will apply to Columbia. She is very politically active. But she will find no such fight left on that campus. A professor, who was there, and still is, wrote that the resistances are pale by comparison now. Because we have no draft. People can choose not to fight. People educated at Columbia, can now aspire to be brokers, bankers and lawyers. That's were the power is now. They are no longer are forced cogs in the war machine.

But there are still cogs..plenty of them, outside the gates in Harlem..and all the poor creases in this tired county of ours.

This professor calls the military the employer of last resort. Still very much alive and well in this day, in this age of ceaseless fighting and fires.

My daughter may go to Columbia next year, or to Berkeley, or to Brown. How I hope she will be one of the first of a new generation of activists. Of those raised to look beyond the piles of privilege afforded her by birth. I hope she rekindles that spirit of revolution.

I say "I want a revolution. I want US to change the world."

and, by the way..love IS all you need.

Imagine!

Don't we all start that way? Perfect. Strangers. In some strange way, we all end this way too; unable to break that thin skin I'm always talking about.

Some strangers come and go, and some stay rooted in our lives. Sometimes we can almost see the all of them. Sometimes we almost obtain our peak. Break through. Almost make it to the top.

But two souls can never live in the same body. So we must remain just a bit apart, depending on kindness.

For such a tried and true romantic, I really do believe we travel this road alone.Thank God, we meet some beautiful strangers along the way.




I met one of these beautiful men on the freeway in LA....and married him years later. Sounds unlikely. Sounds more than mighty strange.

Shortly after, he introduced me to this other strange man..who lived with us..as newlyweds, for a couple of years. Looking back, it could have been a recipe for disaster..or at least a really good sit-com.

But instead, it was a close as I will ever get to actually having a brother.
It was a strange blessing."We" were truly happy.

We ended up out growing the home we'd all made..and each moving in our own directions again..My "brother" eventually finding his wife and making his family.

We aren't as close as we once were. The addition of a new stranger, disrupted the balance. Made things feel strange.

We saw each other again, just last week, the three of us, perfect strangers. Still Perfect. Still a strange blessing. Thank God.


For more Strangeness..Head over to Writer's Island

Every first snow catches me unaware. Unaware that it is past the middle of October. All bets are off...Fall colors are still turning from green to gold. But nothing delays a storm. The Snow Falls. I am not ready. It makes no difference at all.




I could write almost the same caption for this pic of Rach and I. I have known all the seasons of her life. I've seen them all come and go. Yet still, when each moment is observed, I am unaware of the wind. A storm is brewing. A door blows open. A door slams shut. Unaware that it is past the middle of my life, perhaps. All bets are off. I am not ready. Again, it makes no difference at all.





In the midst of these the captions of my life, every once in a while, I look beyond my own nose...to notice some drama detailed in nature..like the little spent aster, on my porch, left too long unattended. I was unaware it's pod had burst open...or that Her seeds had been caught by the wind.I had missed that quiet act of creation.. Though just yesterday, I became aware. She finally, caught my eye: after so much blooming and blooming, after so much unnoticed effort. I noticed. She looks as tired as I feel.

Yet,for today She is perfectly spent. She is dressed in crystals, in a crown of minute glory. It looks too heavy,impossible really, for Her to bear. Still She bows Her head and She bears it..Beauty bending in royal surrender.Keenly aware, knowing this season makes no matter at all. She has weathered the storm. The storm will rage on. She will rage on. She is ready.

I am ready.

I'd slow this world down. I'd only want it ( the crown....really a nice tasteful diamond tiara is much more flattering for my face..) for a day...probably less.. I"d insist on a chance to stop, and look and breath and be still.

Can you tell things are a bit stormy for me right now? Outside, it's a beautiful day.
This storm is of my own making.

Now is when I should be writing..but instead all I want to do is duck and cover.

So my one and only decree as a good Queen is... "Seek shelter. This too shall pass."

I'm sure there are many, far better suited for the crown than I.....Find them over here.

PS...I must add that I would make full use of the Royal WE...as there are several people living in my head and this would be the one time when I openly could admit this..without fear of retribution.

WE ARE NOT AMUSED!!

I was glad of a relatively easy prompt this week..as I am frankly not up to much more.

My first job was in a clothes store. I was a sales girl. I worked with clothes..or in the industry, for years. I traveled up the management chain...Eventually leaping to the manufacturing side for a good long time. A decade of my life spent on putting denim on sz 12 good old American Hips. Bought at Target. God Bless us all. At the time, perhaps I wished I worked for Chanel...or Dior. But now, I can see how ludicrous that would have been. I was (and am still) an average American girl...

My last "Garmento" memory, that is vivid...is giving my OB-GYN 3 pairs of pants from our line. She loved them. They were comfortable. She spent a lot of her time bending over...

My worst job..EASY!!...Working in the Buying office of a large Fashion conglomerate. This was the only time I ever worked in a MIS department (Merchandise Information Systems)..a prehistoric version of IT. This was my first go in with Lotus..and my boss EVOUT..(yes this is a first name..think "a trout")cursed this new fangeled "WINDOWS" system as the DEVIL...I had to try to learn the language of Lotus. Who the hell knew that a back slash was so damned important.

I also learned the nasty little secret about data. It can be spun. Spun in any old direction you want it to go. My job was data reporting. So my job was to be the spinner. My boss said make it go over here..swing it this way,bend it like Beckham...and I tried like hell to write a command that would bend it, not simply command it to" Cover Your Eyes"...and..."Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain". In the end, I left, unable to reconcile their ENRON thinking with my more childish thinking. Hiding data was hiding data, was lying.

I think they hired me because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. If ever caught, my name could easily have been changed to Sitting Duck..or Scapegoat. I just caught on a bit quicker than they expected...and I had a bigger mouth.

What I miss?...the suits. I wore short little skirts and suits and heels..and make up. Still my idea of sexy. Silk blouses and pearls.


My best and dream job...KIDS. Love teaching them. Love making them. Love photographing them.

Someday, I will write to them, for them. Someday I will make enough money, from this, to help them. To live, to grow and to laugh.

A girl can dream...

Let's stroll down to personnel and see what other job listings are posted.

I'm having a bit of a spurned lover moment, in regards to new Poetry sites. I have really mourned Poetry Thursday's departure. I knew it was the best thing for both of us. I could feel the weight of the site getting heavy on it mistresses. And like a good lover, I let it go, sweetly into the night.

But since it's leaving, I have felt my heart harden a bit. I have tried to wise myself to the ways of this nether word we call the blogspere.I remind myself that Dumbo never needed that damned magic feather to fly in the first place.

Yet, Thursdays come, and I am compelled to read and write Poetry. I catch the scent of poetry in the air and turn, hoping to see all that IT meant to me, back. Smiling.

So when I heard of this new beginning, I decided that while "the first cut is the deepest, I'd try to love"..and write..again...

As with any new lover, some things are the same...but oh, how the differences make my breath catch, make my cheeks flush, make my mind go crazy in the possibility that THIS one may be THE one....

Check out their first prompt....impressive!



I wish I were close
To you as the wet skirt of
A salt girl to her body.
I think of you always.


'Salt girls' boil seawater down for the salt.


OK..Here goes..

Always was

Was it just yesterday,the first
time I let you?(No, that is a lie.)
I WILLED you to unbutton my blouse.

I dared you,with one look,to slide
your hand up.Damn the torpedo's!
Damn those good girl brittle rules.

"Break me! Like my shell makes
no difference at all. Open me
like a egg, crack me,wide."

Such a thin space
veiled with skin
between you and I.

So,it was, me waiting for
you,for your fingers to come.
For you, to pick that button.

wlf 9:15

Thanks and congrats to the proud parents on the birth of their new site.. She's a beauty...and thanks to Deb of Stoney Moss for the directions.

Labels: Poetry Thursday

Written very Loosely to prompt...for Writers Island....

This past weekend was all about rattling my own cage. It involved looking back and leaping forward all in one fell swoop. Lo and behold, I ended up having a good time doing my little spastic time warp dance.

First, the leaping forward stanza. The tempo of this one: haunting..hopeful.
There are not many times in my adult life, when I meet people anymore with out any reference. By this I mean, most people I have in my life now, have come into said life, because of some very concrete connections. I have friends that are mothers, fellow equestriennes or kindred disabled comrades. My bonds with these lovely souls are visible, easy and logical.

The bond with writers I know is much more tenuous. It is invisible and ephemeral. It is,to the naked eye, almost minuscule and murky. Yet, something about it rings so true and real.

Meeting Neil was wonderful. And awkward. And easy. I have not sat with another new man, and eaten...for a very long time. I was suddenly aware of my hands....and my voice..I was reminded of what it feels like to be seen for the first time. A rather odd sensation.

You would think we knew each other already. In some ways we certainly did. In a way that made me feel safe. My defenses never once came up. But still..I realized how much I did not know about him. I think he found me very different than he expected.

I found him much the same as what I had envisioned. He is nuanced, thoughtful, and dare I say, a bit shy....just like me.

Oh yes...He is tall.




He's funny, but he doesn't always lead with this. I really like that about him. I found so much to like about him. He was so much more interesting then the food we were eating. He teased me about this. Most of my loss of appetite, was un- intentional...but clearly he hadn't realized I was one of the most vain women..on planet earth.


OK.. now on to the jerking jarring whiplash of the past. The tempo for this one is staccato, allegro..

Right before I left for my 25th reunion..I was stricken with the most, intense stabbing headache I've had in a very long time. This no doubt, was because my blood pressure was through the roof..and as Neil could attest to..I hadn't really eaten much in days...

I had not been this nervous in DECADES. I went to an all girls school..so any thoughts of past loves..and such are not relevant..

But the thought of these girls left me quaking in my 4 inch heels..Which we all know are a costume for me. I am a dirty riding boot kinda girl. I had even had my nails done. Clearly I was already hiding.

The reunion itself was fun, in a very surreal way. It's true...the 40's are todays 20's. Everyone looked fantastic. We are not 20 any more..but boy..everyone was still tight and taught and well turned out. I tottered around on my heels and tried not to faint.

I cried two times. Not boo hoo. But tears just the same. These women were still some of the best and the brightest. I laughed from a place hidden behind my left kidney. So hard. So deep.

The only sad thing..were the claws. Still there. Perhaps cut shorter..(we all have kids now..and wouldn't want to scratch them unintentionally with overly sharpened weapons. So they are squared, filed and usually sport french manicures.)

But they are still there. They appear in a quick comment, or eye roll or linger a little long over someone else's personal tragedy. A little too much pleasure from someone else's pain.

Yet all and all I glad I attended. I am glad I got the chance to meet eyes with some of my very first loves...NO..NOT IN THAT WAY..geeze..when will the Catholic school girl fantasy die??

I do feel more alive now. More centered firmly in my skin. More balance on my feet. So that has to be a good thing, right?...

Or it may just be,that I finally took off those heels....

Here's my offering for poetry Thursday..it's a reprint of an entry from almost a year and half ago.

We also have to bring a poem that is written is some form of language constraints for class tonight..you know..like no words with "e" in them..or picked out of a jumble. This was one of the very first things I had "written" in a long while.
it was nice to discover, I could still bend words to my will.

Happy Thursday. Every ones at Liz's.....



Maggie and the Very Bad Day

I swear I have two daughters...but at (almost)16, the elder, Rachel, seems to be taking a break from homicidal tendencies. She's battling math finals and yesterday she actually DID do the dishes...so from where I sit this morning, she's golden.

Margaret Elizabeth, aka Maggie, on the other hand, has been surfin the Diamondhead of teenage angst, and hang tenning all over my last nerve...from sunrise to sunset..
An(almost)13 year old with rockin little body, and a gigantic mouth, Mags has always been a whirling dervish. When I was about 8 months pregnant..I swear I thought she was going to kill me. All babies kick, punch, and generally terrorize their ever tightening wombs without a view...But Maggie, it seemed, was hell bent on total demo and renovation. I became somewhat of a sideshow freak as people near and far (yeah, right...) would watch as Maggie would somersault, cartwheel, and bring the roof down, sometimes 3 times in a row. By month 9, she was restricted,and saved all her energy for her debut....and has been screaming ever since.

Maggie had a very bad day yesterday...why? I don't know...when asked..."JUST LEAVE ME ALONE MOM"...is spewed at me with such power...I have to admit...I'm impressed...She is a very confident...BRAT. The WB used to have a cartoon on animaniacs...called "Katie goes Kaboom"...about a rockin teen with an atomic temper....the show's been cancelled...but "Maggie goes Kaboom" lives on in reruns at my house, 24/7 without commercial interruption.

Rachel, the eldest, reprimands me, and wonders why I can't get Maggie "under control"..she has selective amnesia of her own episodes, where she was the star of "Kaboom".

During this exchange, a thunderstorm blew in, rattling my house..make of sticks not stones, like the big bad wolf. Running to close Maggie's bedroom windows, I recognized the magnetic poetry calendar on her wall.(I should...I gave it to her.) She had concocted phrases like....We**melt**and**sizzle....... and ...I**always**remember**hot**y**s.......Oh GOD!!oh GOD!! oh GOD...I panic as I crank her windows shut...I stand and stare, as the storm grows inside and outside my home...

The words on the magnetic board beckon me to send her a message... a beacon in this squall.

"I love you" would have sufficed, but would likely be ignored. I let go and let the words take me.

I left this message..for her to notice in her own time..

***To weather a strong child you see more in this storm than her rain****

I studied it for a moment, than retreated quickly to my bedroom, to catch tomorrow's weather report...Let's all pray for sun!

Posted by wendy at 9:11 AM 0 comments

Just a brief set up...This is a response to a homework assignment..To write a blason. A blason categorizes the parts of the body, usually female. I had no clue what it meant until now! We had to write one about ourselves. The couplets were not required, but the only way i could do it at all, was as if I was an old traveler, exploring this far of land..of my body.



as to why a bridge here


Because the inner most side
of the left ankle seems to

almost kiss the bone.
Yet,it is far enough,just.

Still, why the ankle
to ground the head?

Does not a toe
better balance?

Ah, but toes grip and
bicker for control,

where as ankles merely
pivot to negotiate.

So, thin sweet ankle it is.
As it was meant to be

a bridge between
here and there,

set forth to span years of walking.
Forms bend to kneel,worst still,to beg.

Travel long into lands of
such smooth hipped abundance,

some would say a bit overdone.
It would be a tidy argument.

Nest quietly between warm
branched legs of forgiveness.

From there the way seems
straight and reasonably easy.

Don't be fooled. A steady horizon
does still force a hard day's ride.

Gather speed at the meadow.
Linger not in the prairie

though it is flat -safe -wheaten.
Sleep will tempt this belly.

Push on to the foothills.
(For to call them more,

would be to lie.If this bridge
is any thing; it is true.)

Press by, for they are
the gate, not the prize.

The narrows next in passage,
demand control.

Windy and echoed, must sometimes
be met sideways. Baggage abandoned

strewn or eaten. Whittle to
essentials. Less is best.

Think wisely what to bear through.
For once it's mouth attained,

even cowards will dash toward
spread free light. Tis of no matter.

This bond is earthed; burnt
eternal, buttressed and enthroned.

From head to ground, oh Achilles!
finds truth,same I fear,at both ends.

A friend of mine asked me today..If I looked the same as I did in high school. It took me a bit of time to answer. The truth is: I don't know. I don't know if I am recognizable to people who haven't seen me in 25 years. I think I am roughly the same, but I see myself everyday.

Every once in a while, I have a come to Jesus meeting with my body. I will look and wonder where that bulge came from, or if I have always had that line there. My husband knows enough to lie and say I have never looked more beautiful. God bless him for that.

I even asked my muse once, how he thought I had aged. The answer that came back was very kind, and reeking of falsehoods. How are you supposed to say to someone..."Wow! you are not young anymore!"

When I was young, I was not young any more. So following that line of logic.. now I must be ancient.

Aging is an wild ride. This coming weekend, all my old biddy friends and I will size each other up..to see who's changed, and who's remained the same.

I knew I should have booked that face lift back in April....ah well, too late now. Best get out the skin iron and start pressing!


PS: Just as an aside, my poetry assignment this week: write a poem that is catalog of my body. Ah, introspection's truly a bitch.