black pants

Warning!  This post may bore you to tears.  Or you may laugh and recognize yourself.

Hey, it’s a beach read, slouchy, easy…and people love it when I air my dirty laundry (in this case, pants) in public.  Here goes.

I invited my DD to be the voice of reason as I tackled, Marie Kondo style, the pants section of my closet.  As I kept bringing out armfuls of pants, DD’s face went from amused to shocked.  The problem is: every single pair brings me joy.  That means they’re keepers, right?

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lemon drizzle

When the going gets tough, I drizzle.

It’s steamy in Tropica right now.  Meriland empties out like Paris in August.  It’s too hot for even the Tropicans who have deserted Meriland and moved lock, stock and servants to the beach.  I adore Meriland in the summer.  A quiet city to myself, lost in the heat.  I swim in the morning and drift through the lazy days.

The world news in the past few weeks has left me sacudida. That’s a Spanish expression which means, “shaken like a rag doll.” That’s about right.  Exhausted, trembly, heartbroken, shaken inside and out. So much evil, sorrow, hatred, sadness.  In addition, I have a friend who is suffering greatly with his health.

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chococake

I can stop counting now

 

Later this month I will celebrate my 65th birthday.  Birthdays have never bothered me, but this one does.  Because.  65.  Is.  Iconic.

I can stop counting now.  The numbers after this are irrelevant. According to the U.S. government, I am officially old.  I am officially now:  my parents.

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