In Musing

Memories. They not only light the corners of my mind, they’re stacked so high back there, it’s like an episode of Hoarders. Whether misty water-colored or neon bright, I can’t imagine throwing one out. 

For years, I blamed the wise men.

I thought they were the ones responsible for this holiday gift giving racket where shopping becomes the reason for the season.

Wait! Did I just imply I’m victim to my cable provider? Well, yes. For whenever you hear a tale of woe, especially any sort of chronic complaint, we’ve painted ourselves a victim. Of course, “chronic complaint” would be a genial way to describe the utter frustration I feel towards the telecommunications behemoth.

I am struck by the grace of summer. Its willingness to let go and allow fall to ripen and take over, especially when I have no such poise.

Tis bliss and nothing less than absolute conviction when one shakes a can of Comet and sprinkles that pastel green powder onto a dirty surface. To do so is to know change is imminent.

Tending rows of vegetables bursting off the vine and basking over beds of hydrangea and daisies, these were the stuff of dreams back when I thought chlamydia was a plant

I grew up Catholic. What’s that got to do with laughing? Insert punchline here.

The fact is: I need an emoji intervention. And, apparently, I’ll have to do it myself because here’s the hard truth, my friends are all emoji-enablers!

Worry. It’s something I worry about. If it were an Olympic event, I’m certain I’d place in the top ten, possibly medal.

More importantly, what about Ms. Punxsutawney Phil? Personally, I just love her; she stays in her burrow. Why? Because it’s cold out there, people!

If I played guitar, not in a strumming- sing-around-the-campfire kind of way, but more like Bonnie Raitt’s slide guitar that moans melancholy and emanates yearning with every string, I’d pick up that instrument today and compose the post-holiday blues.

My future includes the hard plans, you know, the nuts and bolts of career, travel, retirement, etc. But it is the soft goods I’m more interested in.

Okay. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But looking back, I see there were signposts along the way. Ones that all but screamed, “Stop! Can’t you just buy a costume like reasonable people!”

I am terrible at saying goodbye. This, I know, to be a truth. It has always been the case. There is a simple ripping in my chest when even thinking about saying the word, let alone acknowledging the feeling.

I know I am treading on sacred ground when I talk about how people use their cell phones. It’s personal.

In-laws. How strange a concept and suspiciously close to outlaws.