Sharing is Caring

I know I’ve been sporadic in my posting here, but I am still working to regain my health. I look forward to being able to concentrate, and writing two separate blogs again soon.

My healing process has involved one of my least favorite things: distinguishing between what I have control over… and what I do not!  Which, as it turns out, is almost everything.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

XO Donna

To read my latest post, please follow this link: https://www.1010parkplace.com/not-my-circus/


A Kid at Heart

I blink and it’s a whole new year! So much has happened, and continues to happen so quickly, that it feels as if everything is happening at once… which according to Einstein, Feynman, and Hawking, it is. Which goes a long way toward explaining why I received an invitation to my 50th high school reunion this summer. That can’t be possible, I feel as if I just graduated a few years ago!

I’m pleased as punch (where did that expression come from?) to be writing this with a steady wi-fi connection in our new house. What a luxury! We closed on the 3rd, the movers arrived on the 4th, and the next day we pulled our RV to the curb and unloaded our belongings. What a sight… but our neighbors assured us it’s a common one around here! Then began the Herculean task of figuring out where the contents of all those stored boxes went.

I thought we had eliminated everything that didn’t spark joy, but was surprised to find boxes full of familial guilt. You know, the items you neither want or need, but have dutifully kept, and repeatedly moved, because they belonged to a deceased relative.

Another surprise was being reunited with things that I loved when they went into storage, and realizing that I’d lost that lovin’ feeling.

As a result of these awarenesses, we made a breakthrough decision to use my sweetie’s Grandmother’s exquisite etched glassware for cocktails, and not worry about whether it’s get broken. We realized we can’t take it with us, and our kids don’t want it.

If you also read my most recent article at 1010ParkPlace you already know that I injured my shoulder as a result of the move. I was lucky enough to see Dr. Barbara Bergin, a multi-talented woman and my new heroine! Do check out her blog Dr. Barbara Bergin because she’s a treasure trove of advice for women, delivered in a witty way, that will keep us feeling sexy way past 60! I am being mindful of my shoulder, moving it gently, and it’s healing. Slowly. Very slowly. Patience is still not one of my strong points… I can’t wait to get back to yoga and the gym.

I hope you were able to see the Blood Wolf Moon eclipse this past Sunday, the viewing conditions were ideal here, and it was out of this world! I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, but I’ve been moonstruck since I was a baby.

St. Louis, 1952

My parents always told me that I’d slap on the wall between our bedrooms at night calling them and yelling, “Moon, moon!” until one, or the other, of them appeared, bedraggled, and lifted me from my crib to carry me to the window. If it wasn’t visible, like a broken record, I kept asking “Where’d the moon go?” until they struck upon an answer that satisfied me for that night and I’d go back to sleep.

They finally moved my crib across the room, beside the window. Unused to not being wakened, they awoke the first few nights to check on me, and found me inside the curtains, nose pressed against the window, talking to the moon.
To this day, my father still affectionately calls me his Moonchild, and fifty-year reunion or not, I’m still that kid at heart!

XO Donna




Oh, Christmas Tree

Somebody, somewhere out in the cosmos, is watching me and laughing their derrière off.  I bought three tubes (of ten each) of teeny-tiny little bows which are the perfect size for the tiny tree which will sit on our dashboard.

But these bows have become my nemesis – I’ve already decided the whole shootin’ match is going in the trash AFTER the holidays, if it doesn’t all find its way there in the next hour or so!

I got the little strands of battery-operated lights on the tree in just one try. But, the bows… the problem is two-fold; first, my hands are dry from the weather. Second; we’ve all used stick-on bows where you peel a backing off and apply perfect bows to a package, right?  These are exactly the same, but tiny: the backing is only 1/2 an inch by 1/2 an inch.

 

It’s as if these things were really made by tiny little elves in the North Pole, rather than in a factory somewhere in China to be sold to unsuspecting fools who think they are adorable, and buy them.

 

As a final insult, the bows don’t want to adhere to the branches I am fastidiously applying them to.  I searched around for the scotch tape, found it, and now I am tearing off little-bitty pieces to stick to the back of the sticky bits, and it seems to be working.

Only time will tell.

I am now out of the mood to try and finagle a way to hang holiday lights in here, so I ask for some help and we settle for arranging them on the dash, where after all of this effort, only the few people on the walking trail will ever see them. But we will see them, and you will too. My tiny Christmas tree does make the place merry and bright!

As if to reward me for my perseverance, there are snowflakes blowing around outside my windshield here in central Texas. Everyone is delighted and posting photos on Facebook, since this is such a rare event.

I’m hoping your holiday decorating is merry, fun-filled, and goes exactly as planned!

XO Donna


Happy Thanksgiving

I want to wish you all a Happy and Healthy Thanksgiving!

I have things I am especially thankful for this year and getting to write, and having all of you reading my writing, is way up there on the list!

I invite you over to this week’s posts at DamnedGypsy.com and at 1010ParkPlace.com

Enjoy your friends, family, food and everything else you can think of to be grateful for.

XO Donna


Recombobulation Area

Dis.com.bob.u.late / verb; To upset, confuse, disconcert, or frustrate.
Vocabulary.com says, “It is a fun, fancy word for ‘confuse.’ Then, they used it in this sentence: If something has put you in a state where you don’t know up from down and you can’t spell your own name, you may be discombobulated.”

Or, to quote Jeff Foxworthy, “You may be a redneck… ” but, I digress.

When the word was first used circa 1820-1835, it was a fanciful alliteration of discompose or discomfort.
Although I t’s popularity is in the top 40% of words, the only person I’ve ever heard use the term was my mother. Until recently.

When I went to our Sister’s Reunion two weeks ago I flew into Mitchell airport in Milwaukee, WI. which boasts the world’s only recombobulation areas, one on each of it’s three concourses. Yep, just three concourses. Everything you can need and want, in an easy to navigate airport. I love MKE, it’s calm and civilized, and it reminds me of Austin’s Mueller Airport back in the 80’s.

IMG_1774

Since I flew TSA pre-checked, I didn’t have to suffer the usual indignities of long lines and strip-searches, and only put my purse through the x-ray machine. Looking up at the end of the inspection I noticed a large sign that said RECOMBOBULATION AREA above the hallway leading to the terminals, and laughed out loud. The guard looked at me quizzically, and I pointed to the sign, “That’s really funny!” He looked at the sign, then back to me, his expression changing not one iota. I figured it’d be a bad idea to encourage him to “lighten up,” so I kept my thought to myself and moved on.

Wouldn’t it be nice if there were recombobulation areas all over town? I envision little places with tiny gardens and water features where you could pull over after driving on MoPac or I-35…

Maybe that need to recombobulate is exactly what has driven the success of Starbucks, and the plethora of coffee shops everywhere. Maybe that’s exactly what bars and cocktail lounges have been providing for us since Prohibition ended!

Next time you find yourself craving alone time with your cappuccino, or making arrangements to meet friends at a local watering-hole, or to ‘paint, while drinking,’ know that there’s a higher purpose at play: you’re recombobulating!

XO Donna