Alas, fair maiden
bereft of biting remarks
all your teeth are gone
* * *
Alas, fair maiden
your ears continue to grow
as your stature shrinks
* * *
Alas, fair maiden
eat chocolate, drink wine, love, laugh
life is pretty good
* * *
What scares me the most (currently) is that no longer having a day job I’ll start self-medicating on daytime T.V., sugar and carbs. But I already self-medicate on sugar and carbs so adding TV into the Rx isn’t far-fetched.
So today, I resolutely turn off the morning talk show and attend a journal writing class. I know, I know, I hear you saying – “BUT JUDY! YOU’VE FACILITATED JOURNALING WORKSHOPS FOR DECADES”. (Ok, you didn’t say it, I did)
However, I CAN hear you saying: “BUT JUDY! YOU’VE NEVER TAUGHT WRITING, YOU DON’T KNOW EVERYTHING . BUT JUDY! YOU NEED OUTSIDE STRUCTURE. BUT JUDY! GET OFF YOUR BUTT”. You, my dear readers, are tough on me . . .
It’s a good-sized group of people about my own age – has to be roughly my own age because at 9:30 a.m. anyone younger is at work or jet skiing. Lots of women and 2 men. The teacher, Maryann Easley, is a published author, colorful, personable, well prepared and articulate. So far so good.
The exercise for this first class – pick a saying and do a quick-write. We are instructed to each take the piece of paper from the top as the box passes around. I’m an unruly student and pick from the middle of the pile:
in the moment
in the present
Eww, don’t like this one. That’ll teach me for not following the rules. I write:
I’m always in the moment
impossible not to be
it’s my brain that gets confused
thinks it’s in the past
or wishes for the future.
Bad brain! Will you never learn?
but when you're dead
the present is all I'll know.
Breathe, breath, pneuma
Who Nu Haiku
Much too much to drink
Irritated birds can’t fly
“water – logged” will sink
Important background information
I remember the first time I was called “Ma’am”. It was spewed out by a 15-year-old bag bog at the supermarket. I was barely into my 30’s.
Stay with me
This morning I had a heart halter monitor “installed” (Nothing serious – just trying to titrate off of anti-arrhythmia medication which necessitates 24 hour monitoring just in case my heart protests) It’s always a bit sobering when I have anything heart related. It reminds me that while I’m aging on the outside for the world to see my insides are wrinkling too. On my way back I stopped at Costco for lunch.
Be patient it will all make sense
I often go to Costco for lunch or dinner (for those of you in other parts of the world – it’s a warehouse store where the smallest quantities are packaged for a family of 20). I feast on food samples being handed out to market products.
The best times for dining are Saturdays and Sundays where the aisles are replete with men and women, wearing white things over their hair, dishing out miniscule samples of food. It is a leisurely meal because it takes time going back for seconds and thirds without looking conspicuous.
Today there was a new product – energy bars. Energy is something I can always use so I stopped to eat. The samples were being served by a very friendly, manipulative young man. He was youthfully cute wearing a white thing over his hair .
He informatively explained, “WE only use the best ingredients.” WE don’t use additives”, “OUR bars have low sodium . . . ” If I hadn’t been around the aisle a few times (figuratively and literally) I would have thought he owned the company or at least was a major stockholder.
He encouraged me to try all the three flavors and sample as much as I wished. What’a treat not having to sneak back for second and third helpings. Instead of reeling down the aisles looking for the next food cart I lingered at the table slowly savoring each sample – very tasty. I read the label – good ingredients. Checked how many bars a package – good price. I threw a box into my cart. “Thank you, Miss”, he called out. The “MISS” ricocheted off my psyche just as the MA’AM had done decades earlier.
I’m seriously thinking of going back to help him fine-tune how he markets to MATURE women. This is what I’m going to tell him: Call women “Miss” from 20 to 50. Those are the ages when we desperately care and love the recognition that we still look youthful; Call women 50 years and older Ma’am. This is when WE crave respect, know how we look and NEED ENERGY to care.
If this helps him sell more energy bars I may ask for a cut.
I TOLD you if you stuck with me it would make sense.