Imagine you lost memories of part of your life. You remember being a child and growing to an adult age, and you remember the last three years of your life, but you have no memories from twenty years in between.
I have a lot of ideas for blogs that have yet to be drafted. I have notes written on what I want to say, and a few of them are going to require me to dive deep into the expanse of the mind. So, I thought I’d go with a lighter one today.
Next week comes a yearly fund raiser that my dad puts on for his job. However, the event is not the focus of this post, rather, it’s about finding something to wear for this every year. I don’t own a lot of formal clothing. As I dug through my don’t-wear-anymore clothes closet hoping to find the golden outfit, I came across a pretty blouse with shear sleeves. Maybe I could wear it with my skirt. I slipped my arms into the fabric, buttoned it up and looked into the mirror? What’s this? Why do I look like a football player? Oh Lord. Shoulder pads! The shirt surely wasn’t from this century. Had I not been out shopping for dressy clothes for that long?
I do have one dress and one pretty skirt that I could’ve worn, but they were more for a wedding. Plus, I didn’t want to wear open-toed high heels, which is all I have for dresses.
So, I ended up doing something I despise . . . I went clothes shopping. I found a pair of dressy pants to wear. Thankfully, I DO have a twentieth century pretty top to match. However, the new pants needed to be hemmed.
I flicked through a box with different trinkets searching for a safety pin, when retro came calling again. What did I find this time? Stick pins. What the heck. Do I ever throw anything out? Maybe I hoped they would come back into style. It’s been long enough now, and it doesn’t appear that is going to happen. But, as soon as I get rid of them, you know they’ll become the latest trend.
Why not? Hip huggers became low-risers when they returned. Bell bottoms became flare bottoms in the retro rerun. I didn’t save any of those.
I’m waiting for earth shoes. They were comfy. I don’t like the dark-framed glasses from the fifties that are trending again. My shaped face does not fit the style.
Am I the only one who finds these old relics in her house? If I am, please don’t tell me.
We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand . . . and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late. ~ Marie Beynon
So, I was sitting outside on the deck with my dog by my side. The heat had broken overnight with a front that came through, and I was enjoying the dry, mild morning. I only had about 20 minutes to spare, but I wanted to breathe deep and soak in the moment.
I apologize to those of you who have read this before. I’ve actually posted it two other times . . . for sentimental reasons. Thank you for indulging me. Happy Easter to those celebrating and have a great weekend everyone.
Some people might remember their passed-away loved ones, on special days like their birthday, or on the day they died. I tend to remember my Grandma on this Thursday every year. It’s not her birthday which is September 13th, nor is it the day she died, December 4th. It’s also not this date, April 13th, that has any significance. It is today … a Holy day … the Thursday before Easter, that always brings back sweet memories of my Grandma. Continue reading “A Special Thursday”→
I have some exciting news. My novel, Whit’s End, is now available on CreateSpace in paperback and will be available on Amazon next week. The Ebook version is available now. On December 14th, they’ll be a goodreads giveaway contest for the paperback version. I will post a link when the contest goes live.
Switching gears, on November 1st, I posted about my short story memoir anthology, and gave a glimpse of the first of those four stories titled, Don’t Blink. The second tale in the anthology is titled, Hope Lies in Meatballs. I thought it was a funny and fitting title.
This is the second installment of a day in the kitchen with mom. Only this time, it was our other mom.
My husband had been wanting to spend time with each of our mom’s in the kitchen, and a few weeks after he baked apple slices with his mom, he asked my mom, V, to teach him how to make pasta from scratch.