The gone me.

April 12, 2022 by Leave a Comment

I miss…being me. 

Somehow, in the past two years, while dealing with the virus pandemic and its continuing aftermath, I’ve lost my edge, whatever that was. 

Who hasn’t? 

Okay, okay, not everyone feels like me but, I’ll bet that if you dig down, deep inside, not everything about the image looking back at you in the mirror is the same. Yes, we’re all older, not necessarily wiser, but damn road-weary of the tumultuous ride life’s taken us on since 2020. 

As much as I enjoy getting out, either to work on my still-limited schedule or just to be part of the mostly unmasked civilization in the stores or restaurants…I’m happier to return home and jump into my pandemic loungewear. Think about it. In some ways, we’ve made it through what I call the “virus gauntlet”, even though the variants continue to threaten everyone. But, either through the vaccination process, or the benefit of any natural immunity incurred from getting Covid or one of its offsprings, we’ve become a lot more resilient and less impacted by all the previous virus hysteria of the past two years.

But just as we were all ready to pick up life’s virus-shattered pieces, along comes a political/financial type of influenza…full-blown inflation and skyrocketing gas prices which our fearless leader attributes to the Russian assault on Ukraine.  C’mon man!! I won’t go into some exhaustive diatribe on this issue even though my inner, sarcastic, child is throwing a tantrum in my head. That…is a rant for another day. Sadly, more and more of such days are heading our way. 

I long to get back to the me who embraced each new day and whatever it brought my way. I laughed more and enjoyed life’s simple pleasures. Maybe I took too much for granted, maybe I ignored mortality staring back at me in the mirror, like it does now. For all of us. 

I miss the me who didn’t give a rat’s ass about matters out of my control. I miss the me who can usually rise to most occasions and take charge. And some people in my life have chosen to be distant, for a myriad of reasons, both personal and likely political, I miss the interactions with them. The current state of our world and its issues has brought so much divisiveness between us all. We need to realize that life is just too damn short to spend time hiding in some corner of our existence on this angry planet.

From Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop…Write a blog post about something you miss.

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Our “Breakfast Club”

March 30, 2022 by Leave a Comment

Years ago, when I started writing and joined the blogging community, the subject matter was so much more…lighthearted. For the most part. When I developed my own website, it wrapped itself around my unfinished book which is a collection of memories of dealing with my later mother’s battle with dementia. 

That…has come full circle. 

Writing, to me, is about growth, about not marginalizing oneself into focusing on a single topic, day in and day out. Let’s face it, we all have opinions and so much more to say…about everything. Blogging provides that platform, almost a stage where we perform through what we write. 

Within the past two, or more years, my overall “tone” has developed an edge of sorts. Chalk it up to the pandemic, just like everyone else does, it seems. And now, with the current world turmoil, and all that goes along with that touchy subject, it’s quite difficult to sit down and put together some rambling words that spout sunshine, rainbows and lollipops. 

But then a good friend tagged me in a Facebook post, and it made me stop and think about good times, and friendships. And breakfasts on Sunday mornings. 

It all started well over one year ago with friends from a club The Husband and I belong to here where we live. Outside of that domain, several of us have gathered for long walks and meet just about every week at a great spot here in Carmel for breakfast. We call ourselves the Breakfast Club (of course) and we have our own spot in the upstairs part of George’s where at least ten or more of us sit in the same seats, week after week. We share and vent about life’s injustices from the days before or those ahead of us. From one end of the huge table to the other, idiotic YouTube videos and Memes are shared while we talk politics on all levels. Of course, there’s a bit of gossip to be had and we laugh like hell, sometimes so loud that our waitress, Karen, shuts the upstairs level door so we don’t disturb others. (Some of us, no names mentioned, can be a tad…loud.)

Positive friendships have blossomed and, in that, a respect for our differences along with support for the personal or family medical issues some have on their plate. And, speaking of plates…each week the breakfast orders range from oatmeal with blueberries, eggs over easy with a side of hash browns, stacks of pancakes, cheese omelets over corned beef hash (with a side of rye toast), waffles smothered with apples and whipped cream and… coffee, lots and lots of coffee.   Did I mention…” please pass the hot sauce”? Yup, that and ketchup. 

Each Sunday morning ends with gentle hugs outside the restaurant and we make our way into one more week. And we smile and wave as each of us drives away, knowing we’ll get to do it all over again in just a few more days. 

From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop…
Write about what you miss most about your early days of blogging. 
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As the stomach turns….

March 23, 2022 by 24 Comments

Definition of Tripe:

1:  Stomach tissue especially of a ruminant (as an ox) used as food.

Yuck!

2: Something poor, worthless or offensive.

Highly offensive!

 

Make no bones about it, I despise Tripe, in fact, just thinking and typing about it gives me the chills.

There are some fairly disgusting foods that people ingest, even going so far as to label them “delicacies” but this particular one is, in one word, grotesque.

Before all the cards, letters and e-mails start rushing in from people lauding the wonderfulness of entrails, pigs feet, tails, fried grasshoppers or other assorted vile food items, let me assure you that I will never go over to the dark side of the table where any of the above is concerned.

I’ve never eaten or come close to Tripe other than viewing it sitting there inside a butcher’s case, looking all gnarly and gross.  And, there was that instance of childhood trauma which may have triggered my lifelong revulsion to this ruminant.   Nope, scratch the “may have”…it has definitely scarred my taste buds.

 

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Got your attention, did I?

Let me take you back.  The year..1952, I was seven years old.  An only child, dragged along to the movies by my parents to see “Moulin Rouge”, a movie they found entertaining but was way over my young head; in fact, it terrified me with just the opening scenes.  The music blared in the movie theater and images of women danced across the screen, kicking their legs up in the air along with massive, twirling, petticoats that, to me, looked just like Tripe, ready to jump out of the screen and into my frightened lap.

Do you understand where I’m going with this?  I hope so!
Returning home that evening, I went to bed and awoke later with nightmares. Tripe…dancing around in my room, Tripe…dancing over my bed.  Ugh.  It has been something that haunts me still.  Just so you don’t think I’m certifiable, allow me to present further evidence as to my reasoning and distaste for this food substance I absolutely abhor….the similarities to the petticoats from Moulin Rouge.

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Must….I say more?  And, please, don’t tell me it tastes “just like chicken!”

 

 

workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop:…Are you a picky eater? Write about the foods that trigger your fight or flight response.   This is an older post, re-worked a bit, but too good to pass up for this prompt.  To this very day, I don’t think there is any other food on the planet which makes my stomach turn as much as this.

 

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