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 A fool and her money are soon separated? Isn’t that how the saying goes?

I must admit, I have been the fool lately, although a small part of me is optimistic that may not be the case.

As the days slip by, and aging takes a greater hold, I’ve been examining my odd perimenopausal pigeon-body shape, blotchy sun-damaged skin, and thinning hair with a more critical eye.  Yes, we all get older and our bodies show signs of it, but like many women, I want to cling to a youthful appearance and why shouldn’t a woman want this? As women age, it’s like they slip into a watery apparition version of themselves, unseen by people, and ignored by most of society.  An older woman is irrelevant. An older man is wise.

Is the above statement true? Depends on who you ask and how old they are.  But pushing that aside, I want to look youthful as possible, because really, it drills down to vanity. Which is why I purchased an Irestore low-level-laser helmet. Place it on your head for 12 minutes a day and within a year, hair will grow back to long luscious locks of your teenage years. 

Ok, maybe the company did not promise that, but it did say it should help with thickening of existing strands and maybe, just maybe, causing new hair growth in parts of the scalp now lonely and devoid of hair.

What would it hurt to try, other than my banking account?

My husband rolled his eyes at me, surely silently smirking that I wasted my money. Maybe I did but only time will reveal the truth.  He suggested I get a wig instead. After all, it’s only 90 degrees and higher with 90 percent humidity 10 months out of the year. Heat stroke isn’t a real issue, is it?

The thought of a suffocating wig on top of my head during the summer makes me shudder.  Besides, what happens if you go to the beach, or go for a run? Will my own sweat ruin the wig? As someone who never wore a wig outside of a Halloween costume or a stage performance, I do not know the answers to those questions.

No, I want a more permanent solution so here we go, laser helmets, things of sci-fi movies and desperate aging people.

I will take before and after photos and keep track of progress, if any.  I will report back in intervals.

Or maybe I’ll just say screw and embrace my new ghost life and haunt people.

 

irestore couple fun Look, you can even do irestore for date night.

I will give an update in six months and let you know my results and then again in a year.

Born from an accident

Wuhan Re Ga Mian

 

Sesame paste wrapped noodles,

Mixed with soy sauce, and green onions

 

Warm, tasty, a treat for the mouth

Consumed during the long shadows of the rising sun

 

On the street, in the store, at home.

 

Distinct

Wuhan Dry Noodles

.

      Wuhan Dry Noodles aka Wuhan Re Ga Mian is considered one of the most famous noodle dishes from China, according to the Chinese government. It originated in Hubei Province but these days can be found throughout China. The dish is made of sesame paste, pickled radish, wheat noodles, soy sauce,  and green onions.  Some varieties include shallots and hot chili oil.

“We must make the boxes!” the elementary school teacher barked at the group of kindergartners sitting on the floor.

I was one of those students, and I nodded in agreement. We all nodded. The time had come to make the boxes.

Everyone was handed a shoe box and soon we were gluing construction paper, tissue, and newspapers on to them. A small rectangular hole was cut on the top. Some had glitter sprinkled on them while others had paper hearts affixed to the sides.

Valentine’s day was approaching and these were our mailboxes, eager to accept the valentines from our fellow students. Maybe a cherry flavor sucker would make its way in, if you were lucky. We lined them up on a table, ready for the big day.

The teacher implemented a classroom rule: you had to get every student a card. No skipping anyone.

Excited, my mom and I went to the grocery store and bought an inexpensive box of Valentine’s cards, designed for this very thing. They weren’t large at all, maybe 3 inches by 4 inches. My mom let me pick out the design I liked.

I went home, tore into the box, and wrote messages in each card to my classmates. Neatly, I printed their names on the outside of the envelopes and stuffed the cards in them.

I didn’t want to lick the glue and my kindergarten mind didn’t come up with the solution of running a damp sponge across the seal, so I stuck them in my book bag unsealed.

When I arrived at school, and the teacher gave the signal we could start stuffing the mailboxes, I realized in horror over half of my cards had fallen out of the envelopes. They weren’t in my book bag either.

Ridden with guilt and shame, I placed the empty envelopes into the Valentine’s day boxes.

And I waited. I waited for someone to say, “I didn’t get a card from Carrie,” but no one ever did.

I was safe.

Happy Valentine’s Day this year and happy Valentine’s Day next year.

Kitties say Happy Valentine's Day

Ode to Young Love : Prospective from a 20 year old young woman

 

3 months after meeting Russell.

Russell. Sigh. I loooove him.

I love the way he masticates his food

And wraps his soft hands around his fork.

I love the way his blue eyes gaze upon me,

And how he’s always in a fantastic mood.

It’s so cute how he sips his tea.

A hot cup to enjoy as the light fades to dark.

At night I lay besides him,

And listen to his breath.

In and out, up and down, rises his chest.

So sexy as I swell with adoration

My love for him crests.

 

9 months after meeting Russell.

Russell. I looooothe him.

His jaw flaps open as he smacks his food.

And his pale wussy hands clutch his knife.

Did not his parents tell him this was rude?

Morning, night, and day, he plods around

Dragging his feet along the ground,

consumed with being sullen.

He stares at me with those grotesque eyes,

Now orbs of aqua repulsion.

The way he slurps his tea makes me want to cry

Plus, he never leaves the tea bag in long enough to steep

He farts and breathes like an old pug while he sleeps.

And rolls around to steal the covers.

Until it becomes a crisis.

My irritation with him rises.

 

Ten months after meeting Russell.

It is over. Our love is done,

Withered up like a leaf on a tree at the beginning of winter, waiting to blow away in the frigid air.

No more will grow back as the roots of the tree have rotted, eaten by maggots and worms.

It is over. Our love is done.

 

Twelve months after meeting Russel

Joshua. Sigh. I looooooove him…

 

 

No more sparkling decorations. No more parties. No more fun.

January is the dreariest of the months.

The glow of the Christmas lights have darkened as the decorations have been stashed away. By the side of the road sits a brown, crispy hull of a Christmas tree, a shell of its former glory. It used to make people gleeful with its white or colored lights and dangling ornaments. Now, its cruelly tossed out, waiting to be ground up into tiny bits so it can decompose. Fake trees are stashed in stifling closets, attics, or basements, forgotten until next year. In the meantime the plastic tree hibernates, collecting dust, and feeling neglected.

People, after a month of over-consuming, over-socializing, and being overwhelmingly busy, scale back and opt to stay home. They embrace their New Year’s Resolutions of denying themselves fun rich foods, cookies, and alcoholic drink. The days of an overflowing supply of cheese accompanied by a forever refilling wine glass are gone. Pizza has been replaced with salads, which are great, but not so appealing when rain seeps from swirling gray skies, and the chill drives the cat inside to eat out of boredom and get chubby.

Yes, January is the dreariest of the months.

Getting a friend to meet you somewhere in January is almost impossible as they only want to huddle at home, hungry and agitated as they buckled down on their diet plan for the first three weeks. They also suffer from sore muscles, having joined a gym and with much enthusiasm, did too much the first two sessions. Moving presents a burden, so much in fact, they probably won’t pick up their cell phones to answer your texts about getting together.

The cold weather lingers and the plants have died, some becoming nothing more than piles of sludge on the ground. Others simply wither and turn brown. Spring hovers around the corner, waiting to do its dance to lure the flowers out of the ground. The warm weather feels distant and impossible to reach.

There is some good news about January. It is only 31 days long and the end is here.

So let’s pop open the champagne and raise out glass for a toast and say good-bye to January, the dreariest of all months.

Frenemy is disgusted by the January weather.

Cats and yoga mats

She sleeps in the corner, her tail wrapped around her body, her head nestled into her front paws. Her whiskers quiver and her back legs twitch at dreams of far-off fields, teaming with light brown wheat and an abundance of rats. 

It is the time of day that I stretch my muscles, taunt from too much sitting and I will push through a series of sun salutations with a personal vow to add one more than the day before. 

I remove the yoga mat from the closest, its squishiness sinking beneath my fingers.  Often it smells like last night’s dinner. Perhaps I should move it out of the pantry and into an actual closet. 

I place it on the floor, quiet, and with deliberation I roll the mat out. 

Instantly, the cat springs to life, dreams of rats forgotten, and she sprints to the yoga mat and plops in the middle of it. 

Just like the day before and the day before that. 

She settles on the matt, unwilling to budge. I can move her, but she gets right back on it.

Cats and yoga mats.

I adore making New Year’s Resolutions. The new year starts, full of hope and promises that changes can be made, and triggers inspiration. My list starts with a few and then grows to many, some of them merely to do items but I prefer to call them resolutions, all 31 of them.

The year started off a bit gloomy as an illness had left me dozing on the sofa and unable to think for 21 days. The virus has cleared my system, and my functioning brain has switched back on, and I’m ready to get started.

Except I’m kind of weak so the exercise one will have to wait until later.

And now I’m super hungry, so maybe I should hold off on the Mcdougal style diet.

I don’t feel like going anywhere so the visit to new restaurants will be put on hold.

Hmmmm, maybe it’s not time to tackle NYR.

February anyone? Sounds like an excuse…

Mostly this post isn’t meant to be exciting, but to try some new things I’ve learned about WordPress. And following the youtube video I watched didn’t solve the issues I was having. Comments on blog post tips appreciated!

“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”

I could have sworn my cat Frenemy rolled her eyes when Buddy the elf said that on the TV. My eyes narrowed as I looked at her. She sat next to me, upright instead of her usual relaxed curled position. Her eyes fixated on the movie.

“It’s OK, Frenemy. It’s just a movie.”

She fell over and put her head into my lap.

“Merry Christmas.”

I frowned. That wasn’t a line from the movie. I didn’t have my laptop open, or my phone near me. No one else was in the house. Shrugging, I returned to the movie, the best Christmas movie ever. I don’t care that people say The Christmas Story, It’s A Wonderful Life, or Die Hard was the ultimate Christmas movie; the award went to Elf. I bet most people don’t know the original script ended with Santa and Mrs. Claus splitting, ready to bring in the divorce lawyers. The studio executives made the right call in having that part of the movie removed.

“Hey, I was talking to you. Merry Christmas.”

I turned the television off and groaned. No one wants to have auditory hallucinations right before the holidays.

“Down here.”

Frenemy was staring up at me. Those words definitely came from her mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” I screamed as I flung the cat out of my lap onto the floor.  

“No need for such theatrics,” she pouted.

“You talk? Since when?”

She ignored my question.

“I got you a Christmas gift.”

My mouth gaped open several inches before I gathered my senses on what action needed to be taken. There’s only one thing to do when your cat starts talking to you.

“Do you like the cat food I feed you? Of course you do, you inhale it. Why do you get up and sprint from one room to another? Do you have a cat friend in the neighborhood? Is someone else feeding you? Would you be OK if I got you a kitten friend?”

I took a deep breath in the middle of my barrage of questions but before I could continue, she interrupted me.

“You already know the answer to those questions. Come here.”

She strolled from the floor to underneath the Christmas tree, the one I spent 2.2 hours searching for, scrounging through every tree at not one, not two, but three different tree sellers. On that day, at that given moment, it was the best Christmas tree available for purchase.

Proudly, I wrapped it in lights and covered it with ornaments shaped like cats.

“Underneath the tree is your gift,” she said with excitement swelling in her tiny cat voice.

On my hands and knees, I crawled underneath the tree,
swearing under my breath at the latest round of needles on the ground. Christmas trees really do need a tree skirt and a full time Roomba that can drive over it without scrunching it up.

A tiny small black item was on the floor.

I picked it up and scooted back from under the tree. It sat
in my hand, dark gray, almost black, and under an inch long. It was shaped like a kidney bean and had the texture of liver.

“What is it?”

“A snack, for you!” If a cat could smile, I swear she was beaming. “A rat kidney.”

My arm stiffened, shocked at the thought of a rodent organ sitting in the palm of my hand.

Resisting the urge to throw it on the floor, I weakly smiled.

“Thank you, Frenemy. I’m touched you thought of me.”

Just then the door opened and Jim entered, juggling two bags of groceries I had politely asked him to pick up on his way home from working out.

“What do you have there?”

“A rat kidney.”

“Don’t touch that. Throw it away and wash your hands!”

He grabbed a tissue and took the organ out of my hand and into the trash.

“Please don’t,” I called after him, “you’ll hurt Frenemy’s feelings. She gave that to me for Christmas.”

He gave me an odd look.

“She’ll be OK.”

“She told me she picked it out for me, as a snack.”

“Are you feeling OK? You look flushed.”

I looked around for Frenemy who now stood in front of the door, meowing at the dark wood,   commanding someone to come open it.

“She was talking to me, like talking talking.”

He placed his hand on my forehead.

“You’re burning up. Go lie down and I”ll get you some water. The fever is making you delirious.”

So the cat wasn’t really talking to me. She didn’t think of me and get me a Christmas gift. The rat kidney snack was really for her to munch on later. It was just illness induced hallucinations.

Disappointed and now feeling achy with a previously
unnoticed scratchy throat, I sank onto the sofa. Jim opened the door to let Frenemy out, who turned just before she exited and winked at me.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

Frenemy the Christmas Cat

Paws have hidden socks by the chimney with care

Sofas have been decorated with wisps of cat hair

Ornaments rearranged, some onto the floor

While human owners trek to the store

To buy treats of turkey and chicken

And thick dark gravy perfect for lickin’

The room is quiet and dark except for the glow

From the Christmas tree, covered in fake snow

The silence in the house gives Frenemy a pause

As she examines the rat kidney she left for Santa Paws.

She’s been a good kitty, no scratching this year

She made all the rats and mice and frogs disappear

No vomiting on anyone’s favorite shoes

And only once did she steal the cashews

Her eyes grow heavy as she waits for his appearance

Promising herself not to cause interference

Yet she falls asleep, way too early,

Missing the man that smells like stale burley.

While he gobbles up his fresh rat kidney

He checks the list for a gift for Frenemy.

She wakes up surprised to find presents galore

And bats around the gifts, searching for

The one addressed to best kitty ever

certain it will contain a toy mouse made of leather.

No where to be found, she flops over with a sigh.

She’s a tough cat, she’s not going to cry.

Scissors are found and waved about, ready to cut,

the paper and tape while Frenemy licks her butt.

I haven’t been super active on my blog. It’s a shame really because I would love to be posting two or three times a week.

So why don’t I?

Because I’m an idiot when it comes to using WordPress.  I’ve read claims it’s simple, a drag and drop sort of builder.  Yet, somehow it never quite works out for me and my blog posts end up looking like they should be on a Geocities page.  For those of you who are full of youth and vigor, and do not know what Geocities was, it was a free site that would host your own personal website. You used their format.  It was clunky with awkward graphics.  It was so awful, it was awesome.

Why can’t doing a blog post be like setting up a Shutterfly photobook?

I think I’m aging myself here.

In any case, complications or not, I plan to post on a more regular basis.  Interesting, snazzy stuff.

About squirrels

Or stories about alien octopus

Or something about my perpetual love of lettuce.

Or….whatever I feel like.

If anyone has suggestions on how to make visually interesting posts with the least amount of work, let me know in the comments and please don’t say use AI.  No, just no to that.

For the bored, or maybe just the curious, check out what Geocities websites looked like.  Of course, this is not representative of ALL of them, but you get the vibe. 

https://www.itsnicethat.com/articles/geocities-before-the-internet-was-cool