Sunday, August 6th, 2017


I hate it when my mood is one hundred percent out of sync with the day.
The day is magnificent. Hot in the sun, cool in the shade. I’m on the side porch of the house which is my bower territory for quiet. The flower boxes look good and usually make me quite happy. I had a great day yesterday frolicking with my daughter going for a haircut (and a couple of blue streaks) and afterward a lovely dinner and conversation.  Perfection. I have a stack of good books to read, an interesting week coming up, writing I want to do, and I am grumpy and moody.

So I took a nap hoping to wake up astonishingly different. Instead I woke up with a thought I wanted to share that made me laugh and now can’t remember it.

Burpety, burp, burp, burp.
Why so cranky?
I beep if my husband approaches so he knows he is in the smart ass remark range.

Why so cranky?
As I wrestle this mood to the ground, I begin to hit pay dirt. I have the kind of unrest that Seniors in high-school or college have.  Something is coming to an end. The future is unclear.  What to do next is a giant distraction from fun and everyone asks about it. Will  the right thing, the perfect thing, the crack the world open thing come to me?  Urgency with no where to go equals moody.
And the definition of moody is angry, irritable and sullen. I suffer from Senioritus.

Mostly I ignore the fact that my time is limited, very finite.  A financial advisor friend reminds me of this fact as he talks about the end of my plan–which means I’m dead or broke!! The actuarial  tables say I have ten more good years and a few not so good to follow. I have a ‘dead’ line. How to meet it?  What matters most? Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock. I have kids who ask “Don’t you need to sell your three story house? Isn’t it too much for you?”  (I very snarkily think, “Don’t you mean too much for you if we pop off mid-mess?”)

As I write, my mood shifts. I love deeply, I attach, I care about the smallest tchatkas of my life, I’m sentimental about Sippy Cups.  I like surprise and play. So this is the perfect time of life to not know, to not plan til events make you, to trust the next trajectory will come and to fill all the minutes with the deep satisfaction of creating or loving that makes time stand still. So there. My mood lifts to match the day. To hell with knowing.

I just remembered my waking thought–What ever happened to playing Jacks? Hours and hours of Jacks competition with ten different stages to go through to win? Way beyond onsies and twosies. There were double bounce upsies and downsies and over the fence as well. Tossing the jacks on the backs of your hands to see how many you still needed to pick up was admired. The jacks had to be just the right weight and thickness. It was an art form. That thought makes me very happy.
Mood overboard.

PS–I WILL BE CHANGING OVER TO WORD PRESS FOR MY NEW WEBSITE THAT WILL HAVE ALL OF MY VARIOUS BLOGS IN ONE PLACE SO–know that I may miss a post or two or do strange things with them until I master this new technical challenge. As my 4 year old granddaughter says when scared with fists at her sides, “I can do this!”.


Comment or Reply: Talk With Me

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *