When I wrote my 50th post about this time last year, I had pretty much completed documenting my passage to the theological place that I inhabit today. It was a catharsis for me, as I examined the chronological steps of my journey; a real examination of the events and environment that had shaped how I look at the myself and the world around me. While I recently took some time away from the blog to set the path for the next phases of my life, I've now come back to muse again. Not so much about my religious beliefs this time, but about the person I've become and the convictions I hold, both of which have their basis in the foundations of my core beliefs.
In just a few days from now, I'll celebrate (??!!) my 55th birthday. There's something about birthday years that end in 0 or 5 that seem to make me reflect on life a little more than the other birthdays do. Fifty-five. The number rolls around in my mind - 55 - the "double nickels"; it's all downhill to 60...
Often in the midst of a conversation with one of my younger coworkers (and they all seem to be younger than me these days)I realize that I can remember things that happened more than 40 years ago. How can that be? I look in the mirror and see someone older and heavier. The skin is still good, but the hair is heavily shot with grey and there's an extra chin or two. I've traded heels for sensible shoes and I wince when I stand up due to the arthritis in my left knee. Yes, I'm slowing down and beefing up, but inside - inside I don't feel any different.
The one thing that has changed, is that more and more often I'm moved to speak up about Western society and its inevitable progression towards tomorrow. My opinions have been formed by drawing upon experiences from a long past. I'm no longer seduced by platform shoes, new radical music or a recently awakened social conscience. My views of the world are tempered with more cynicism and skepticism because I've been there, done that, got the T-shirt. The wrappings may be new, but it's the same old package. By now I've been hearing about global annihilation for 50 years. I'm one of those children who took part in bomb drills in the early 60s, dutifully crouching under my desk with my little arms over my head, waiting for the bombs to drop. Nope, the Doomsday Clock is not a new concept to me.
So, it's my intention to shift my focus from this point forward and begin directing my posts to my thoughts on matters of current interest. I'll be blogging about global warming; holistic medicine; political unrest; natural disasters; just about anything that catches my attention. I'm pretty sure you won't always agree with me, but I'm hopeful that you'll find at least some my musings thought provoking and even join me on my way.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Two Sisters and More Wine
Yes, we're at it again. It's time to sit back, relax, eat whatever we want and open the wine. This time it's two sisters and three bottles of wine, 1/2 a chocolate cake (it was a toss up between chocolate and carrot but chocolate always wins), nachos and fajitas.
We've already been out this morning to pick up the groceries and liquor but not before hitting the local pawn shop to cash in some broken jewelry. Yes, new math here. It turns out that two broken 10k necklaces equals two sparkling bottles of sauvignon blanc; and if we run out of wine, we might just need to break more jewelry!
How long since we've had a girl's weekend? Our last post was in November so we're due for another bender. No kids, no men - just three yapping budgies in the background and a blanket nearby if they get too loud.
So what do we talk about? The disaster in Japan? The way our parents raised us? The men in our lives? Our kids? Our ages? Oh yes, our ages. Those two little girls who loved to play in the garden at the greenhouse back in the early 1960's are now in their 50's sitting here drinking. Maybe there's more than fat arses in our genes. Our grandfather would be so proud to see us now! We come from a long line of winos.
And now we're asking why men are so damn stupid? Is that in the genes too? How many times did I hear from some far corner of the house "Now that was stupid" mumbled under my husband's breath? I never knew what to expect. Would it be another burn in the sheers because he reached down behind he sofa with a cigarette in his mouth? Would it be soap bubbles streaming from the dishwasher because dishsoap was substituted for Cascade? Maybe the ladder had fallen again when he was clearing the rain gutters and he was hanging from the eaves by his fingertips. Or what about the time Debbie's husband dropped his watermelon in the wood bucket because he couldn't carry a plate and turn off a light at the same time. Is this normal? Are our expectations too high?
Can anyone out there not understand why we need to get together and drink, even if only a couple of times a year?
We've already been out this morning to pick up the groceries and liquor but not before hitting the local pawn shop to cash in some broken jewelry. Yes, new math here. It turns out that two broken 10k necklaces equals two sparkling bottles of sauvignon blanc; and if we run out of wine, we might just need to break more jewelry!
How long since we've had a girl's weekend? Our last post was in November so we're due for another bender. No kids, no men - just three yapping budgies in the background and a blanket nearby if they get too loud.
So what do we talk about? The disaster in Japan? The way our parents raised us? The men in our lives? Our kids? Our ages? Oh yes, our ages. Those two little girls who loved to play in the garden at the greenhouse back in the early 1960's are now in their 50's sitting here drinking. Maybe there's more than fat arses in our genes. Our grandfather would be so proud to see us now! We come from a long line of winos.
And now we're asking why men are so damn stupid? Is that in the genes too? How many times did I hear from some far corner of the house "Now that was stupid" mumbled under my husband's breath? I never knew what to expect. Would it be another burn in the sheers because he reached down behind he sofa with a cigarette in his mouth? Would it be soap bubbles streaming from the dishwasher because dishsoap was substituted for Cascade? Maybe the ladder had fallen again when he was clearing the rain gutters and he was hanging from the eaves by his fingertips. Or what about the time Debbie's husband dropped his watermelon in the wood bucket because he couldn't carry a plate and turn off a light at the same time. Is this normal? Are our expectations too high?
Can anyone out there not understand why we need to get together and drink, even if only a couple of times a year?
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