Pieces of the Whole
Looking for a Halloween film that’s not too macabre or likely to scare the candy corn out of you? Check out “Arsenic and Old Lace,” a classic of dark humor, satirical references to horror films of the day, and slapstick Cary Grant.
It took me a while to write this post. Sitting on the sofa, I was weighted down by my two furry friends, Walter and Mimi. Walter is the pretty boy on the bottom, Mimi the sweet little bean he’s resting his head on. Once they’re done sitting on my lap, they find each other.
I get lonely sometimes. When I look up and see their sweet faces, whether they are asleep, wide awake or peacefully purring with eyes half-open, I’m comforted. They find solace in my presence, too. As I head downstairs, they leap from their chairs and run down before me, putting themselves in position in the rooms below. They want my company, want to be near me. I have to twist and turn to accomodate them at night (Mimi in particular is a dead weight).
Forgive me the numerous posts about my cats lately. Rather, indulge me. It’s been a good month to ponder the uncomplicated, unconditional love of kitties.
Today I discovered the injury to my thumb that has been plaguing me for the last several weeks is likely due to decades of avid knitting. I saw a physical therapist, and with the help of some special tools, she was able feel an unusual number of bumps in the muscle that goes from my thumb to my wrist. These bumps are typically due to tiny tears in the muscle that heal over and form scar tissue. Over time, it can cause tendonitis.
Throughout your lifetime you’re warned to eat right, exercise regularly, get plenty of sleep and avoid stress. Of course you may or may not pay attention to this advice, and as you age, you could find yourself paying the price of a lifetime of bad habits. That’s expected.
But nobody told me to moderate my knitting lest my thumb pay the price. Nobody.
There’s a limited warranty on our bodies, and not a whole lot of recourse with any of it. There are some relatively guaranteed benefits of healthy living, although disease can hit any of us and counteract those benefits at any time.
For the rest of our physical well-being, it’s basically planned obsolescence.
How many other surprise aches and pains await me in the coming years? This is annoying, I have to say it. I’ve been drying my hair in the same manner since I was a teenager. Is that going to cause a problem someday?
I should regain full use of my thumb, but it may take weeks. In the meantime, knitting is out, which is like taking away a part of my spirit. I find myself getting a little depressed, not being able to use the soothing therapy of creating with beautiful fiber.
Yes, I know, there are many more serious problems, and I do have proper perspective on this. It is wear and tear, literally, not chronic or terminal disease. Overall, I remain basically a healthy person. My heart is in good shape. My screening tests come back negative, and that’s positive. I don’t have diabetes, cancer or glaucoma, and I am grateful. Truly, deeply grateful.
But this aspect of getting older — pooh.
Image Credit: © sapunkele — fotolia
Oh, the promises I make myself.
Nearly twenty years ago, I bought some beautiful wool fabric, fully intending to make a jacket out of it. Three years ago I bought a pattern, and since then I have slowly progressed to the finish…I swore I’d finish it last year, then gave up when the weather got too warm in the spring. This fall, I told myself. Absolutely this fall.
Of course each time I pick it up, I have to re-read the instructions to figure out what comes next. Then I get discouraged, and give up.
But I will finish it by Thanksgiving. I will wear it on Turkey Day.
And this book…I bought it about fifteen years ago…I pick it up periodically but never get very far. In fairness, I haven’t been reading like I used to, and I did read another two books I’ve had sitting on my shelf since the late 90s.
Then there’s the well-worn promise to lose weight. I only have about six pounds to lose, but I have a body type that shows every ounce, so it seems like more. (When I lost 40 pounds many years ago, more than one person swore I must have lost closer to 100. Like I wouldn’t have been bragging about that!) I don’t feel a need to lose it in a hurry, more a need to feel in control of my weight. I have a vision of myself grossly overweight, and it frightens me. Apparently not enough to put down those Pepperidge Farm salted caramel cookies, however. Yummy…too yummy.
So I avoid making promises to others. If I can’t honor what I’ve promised myself, how can I be expected to honor what I promise others?
Image Credits, header: (calendar) © stillfx — Fotolia; (clock) © Jakub Krechowicz — Fotolia
It’s so much fun decorating my new place. Since I live in an area replete with similar townhouses, I’ve had the opportunity to see how some of my neighbors have fixed up their homes, and it’s given me some great ideas.
One area I haven’t touched yet is the front of the home. You don’t have to go far to see the variety of opportunities for beautifying the facade of the buildings. They range from tasteful to tacky, conservative to wacky, and my neighbors on either side of me are great examples of the range of these options.
I do plan to add a planter or two of flowers out front, and for Christmas no doubt I’ll find something to tack on the front door. This may be the perfect time to pull out that latch-hook door hanging that says “Noel.” I made it in high school, I think, or shortly thereafter. It does, admittedly, veer to the campy side, but hey, it’s Christmas. And compared to what they’re likely to do next door (to the left), it’s downright classy.
There are four units in each building, and the buildings are in various stages of upkeep. One group of my neighbors recently painted their building a charming springy-green, and each door is now a different color, rich shades of red and blue and other colors I don’t remember. It looks wonderful. From seeing this outside view of their homes, I believe they are good neighbors.
I’m not big on gnomes, but even so, the doorsteps down the block that hold two or three of them are welcoming. Even the pink flamingo sends out a happy greeting. I suspect the latter may reveal a bit of the owner’s sense of humor.
I love that such a large group of homes — and there are dozens of these townhouses nearby — offers such an opportunity to display the owner’s (or in my case, renter’s) personality and hospitality. It makes coming home every night a delight.
My World With Words 
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