I understand that with the impending doom of global warming, economic recession and avian flu that looms ever over our heads and the other countriesâ laughing at or terrorizing or poisoning us I should speak on matters more pressing than petty. But I am a woman â so please indulge the worries of my troubled mind.
While global turmoils rage on I am getting old. âTheyâ tell us to âage gracefullyâ but I intend to go down, as with any battle, kicking and screaming.
There is a song that claims the above title and when I used to hear it, I would change the station. It wasnât really that I didnât like the tune, but the words werenât as inspiring to me as they were intended to be to the listener.
Iâve always been a firm believer that people werenât meant to fly. If we had, we would have been born with wings. Since the only human things in history or legend with them were the angels and a couple mythical gods, and if, after many years or doing so, we havenât yet begun to evolve as a species to even grow one feather, it wasnât meant to be.
Camping out, even with the finest in roughing-it luxuries and the latest in technology does not always mean things will run smoothly.
Generators will die; bulbs and fuses will burn out; someone will get sunburned (normally me) and knowledge moving through cyberspace from one place to another gets lost. No matter how much I open my mind, I cannot understand how a program can on one end, say it is there or that it was sent, and then on another, not be there or say it wasnât received.
Not to take a mental disorder caused by physical tragic events lightly (I actually suffered from it myself at one time) I just have to say Iâm pretty sure that elevators and escalators are a cause for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
When you go on a road trip, you learn a lot of things. You learn more about your traveling companions even if they are family members or the closest friends. You learn what your vehicle is capable of, what routes are the fastest (contrary to Ms. GPS who apparently sometimes thinks itâs funny to lie) and you learn how long you can hold your bladder. If youâre like me, with the attention span of a hummingbird on Red Bull, you learn the hard way that you need to read more thoroughly.
On the road again ... just canât wait to get on the road again.
What is it about a road trip that is so inviting? Nobody really enjoys sitting for long periods of time. Conversations taper off after about the first two hours. Roads inevitably will have construction going on, someoneâs going to have to stop to use the restroom, and at least one driver is sure to make the traveler cringe or curse.
Have you ever had one of those days when pretty much nothing goes well? I donât mean the horrid-life-changing-tragedy type of days, but the kind that will stick with you and make you dread the decision you made earlier to get out of bed?
I wish I could do a spin-off of the Fashion Police show (on E) of my own using stylish authorities (albeit less snarky) to ticket people making fashion faux pas.
For those of you who donât know, the fashion police are a fictitious group or fashion-conscious specialists whose only purpose is to assure that people arenât walking along like Barbie dolls that oneâs Little Brother dressed â and if they are, they correct them. While normally I canât stand the shows on TV telling us what to or not to wear, I do believe someone should be able to call a foul when one is made.
âTis the season when the scent of fresh-cut grass fills your nose, when the sounds of cracking bats and smacking mitts meld with exclamatory âWoo-hoos!â and âYeahs!â
Its the time when we fill our bellies with overcooked hot dogs and pretzels with underheated cheese. Itâs baseball season. As a daughter of â and later a wife of â Cubbies fans I am well used to disappointment and schooled in calmly watching âmyâ team lose. I still âroot, root, rootâ for my âhome teamâ regardless.