Friday, May 17, 2019


Skinny people think they are too fat.
Fat people think and know they are fat.
Some people think their heads are too big. Some people dislike the way their limbs look.

Some people hate their faces, wanting to be beautiful.

Some beautiful people think they could be more beautiful than they are.

It starts on the inside, folks!

Beauty is as beauty does.

Thank you, Jimmy Dodd.

Recently I got braces on my teeth again. I had them from fifth grade to freshman year in college. My teeth came out okay, just not perfect, but they lasted for a long time, until about two years ago.
After the chemo, all sorts of things changed in my body.

My hair did grow back, which is a plus, though hair in other parts of my body did not, which meant I didn't need to shave my legs any more.
My hands get numb, mostly in the little and ring fingers, both of 'em.
My feet, well, they're numb most of the time.

I have no idea what my guts are doing. I hope they're all right, but I think some of them aren't functioning the way they should.

As I age, I find I'm getting bumps in my skin...not warts or moles, just little bumps. Grandma Lefko used to refer to them as "sand". Thanks, Gram. It works for me, too.

Now, I am 70 years old. In my mind, I am still mid 20s, but that doesn't count. I can expect certain changes, and though I don't welcome them, they cannot be denied.
My brain functions only when pressed...editing is good, not so good remembering what we ate while on vacation I don't even remember going on.

Faces of people I know sometimes slip through.
I call most people sweetie or honey or kiddo or babe to cover.

Dear GOD, don't let me be falling into senility or ALZ!

If I die soon, I'd like it to be with most of my faculties intact. What's left of them, that is.

One of the best photos of me and my parents. I was 28 and that was my wedding dress.

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

From the back of my mind

This came to me today.

When I was a wee wee tot,
Mommy bought me a weewee pot.
Now I weewee quite a lot
In my little weewee pot.

What causes these memories?

Last week, I called my older brother to sing a line from a song from back in the 50s...Honeycomb. I don't remember the singer, but Jack liked the song for some reason.

In these early days of 45 records, they weren't always pressed well and as a result, had parts that skipped.

This record of his had a terrible skip...

So I got me a girl and I kissed her again, and then, Oh, Lordy, well I'd do it all again do it all again do it all again do it all again

This went on until you touched the needle arm and moved it past the skip.

So I called Jack and sang it to him and he laughed at the memory.

I guess CDs don't have skips. Nobody really uses vinyl, not when it doesn't fit into your car or that thing you upload songs into and then play them while you jog or wash dishes or study.

Time to remember air raid shelters, bomb shelters, Sputnik, Korea, death of the last Confederate soldier...and I don't particularly want to do it all again....

Monday, May 6, 2019

Days of my Life

Over the weekend, I thought of so  many things I'd like to post about...deep, observations of life, important things.

Like how come it was okay to shoot the bad guys as they are riding away, but when they shoot back at the posse, the good guys, they die, too.

How accurate they are with six guns on galloping horses, shooting behind themselves, to knock five good guys off their mounts...and die, either from the bullet or the fall?

I pondered this.

Of course, the main good guy, the hero of the story, never ever gets shot, though he has good enough aim to knock off five bad guys.
Then, somehow, he wings the lead bad guy, who falls off his horse, the hero pulls his horse to a halt and jumps down, ties the bad guy up with a rope from nowhere, and all is well.

Nobody ever stops to pick up the bodies of the dead guys.

Are we supposed to think that they get up by themselves and find their horses, mount up and ride back to town?
Unless, they really are dead.
Who picks them up, good or bad, to be buried?

Cowboys never, ever really did this.

The American cowboys of my youth did a lot of killing, except for Sugarfoot, and got away with it because they killed bad guys.

Perhaps we need some cowboys to do some judicious posseing in Washington.


Go get 'em, Roy or Gene or Hoppy.