How the Cookie Crumbles

An irreverant view of life after SIXTY-FIVE

Winging It!

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Just got back from vacation and find I’m in need of a REST. Driving for EIGHT hours to our destination didn’t do me in—getting lost in Toronto after missing an exit almost did. On the way home, another eight hour’s drive. Toronto is mindboggling at the best of times. My life’s goal is to stay as far away from Toronto as humanly possible, but that’s just ME. I’m not much of a driver / traveller and am grateful and thankful that we made it home safely after driving over 800 miles.

My sister and I visited our old hometown and stayed with long standing friends in the house we last lived in over 53 years ago. If she hadn’t been my co-pilot, I would NEVER have attempted the trip alone. I prefer doing the driving as I find it’s impossible to sit and trust ANYone else to do it. I’m always stomping or pumping the imaginary brake pedal when in the passenger seat. I’m a very vocal bundle of nerves—a terrible distraction for the driver. No matter who might be driving, I’ve tried but I can’t relax. I’m better, though, in the back seat but it doesn’t work when there are only two of us in the car. Does it?

One day during our week away, about eight of us went boating and swimming in Larder Lake. Another day we crossed the Quebec border, which is only 10 miles away, and went shopping in Ruon Noranda. What a culture shock—everything’s, you know, in FRENCH. The third day I had to have a veg to settle down after all the excitement but it wasn’t boring as people kept dropping by and visiting as we sat out on the wrap-around veranda, which faces the lake. The day before we left for home, four of us  made a valiant attempt at blueberry picking. We drove to several ‘secret’ spots before finding a satisfactory patch but couldn’t find the huge berries of my youth.

The valiant part became evident once we packed up to call it a day. MY back refused to return to its original position after bending over from the waist picking berries for hours. At least two. Some of us had been bitten here and there by mosquitoes, blackflies and what-not. Why is it that I was the the most popular fount of nourishment? I was eaten ALIVE. My upper arms looked like I’d been used as a punching bag. It had been hot and I’d worn shorts. A mistake? There are no words in the English language to describe how my legs looked: inflamed, bulging, swollen. My whole life the bugs have loved me no matter what I attempted to use against them. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch. That’s the north country for you.

I attempted to shave my legs this morning—with great care—and managed not to nick any of the bites and bleed to death. Why was I in such a hurry to shave? I couldn’t wait until I needed a lawnmower, that’s why.

Nice to go away but nice to come back home. To sleep in my own bed again. I’m finding that as time goes by, I get pickier / pernickety. I get cranky when my schedule is upset. I get bitchy when people keep me waiting. Just some failings of getting on. Deal with it. I do.

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Author: Let's CUT the Crap!

I'm getting a little LONG in the tooth and have things to say about---ouch---AGEing. I believe it's certainly a state of mind but sometimes it's nice to hear that you're NORMAL. I enjoy reading by the truckload. I'm a grandma but I don't feel OLD although I'm not so young anymore. My plan is to stick it out as long as I can on this lovely planet and only will leave it kicking and screaming!

Some things in life are complicated. Let's keep it simple.

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