Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Love on leaf-blower day...
Absolute cacophony happening here. Punkin is laying at my feet, and we are both blown away by the noisiness of Thursday afternoon in the neighborhood. I already did my compliment of whining and sniveling earlier, so I just have to suck it up, I guess. Last night, a friend shared with me that she was pooch-sitting the daddy of a new litter, and that soon, when she was grown-up enough, one of the pups would be her very own. And she was amazed by how much sweetness this little guy brought into her otherwise solitary life. And I thought surprise, surprise, surprise. Non-pet owners have no idea what they are missing. These small (or medium, or large, or gigantic) sweet creatures provide warmth and laughter and just plain company for we solitaires who have given up on a life partner (or, like me, have tried on a variety and decided phooey, I'd rather just be myself for the rest of this existence). Sadly, our companions will probably leave us too soon, but for the time they are here, they are totally present. I went out for a little while this morning, about two hours altogether, and the joy at the front door on my return was a celebration, for sure. And, burdened as I was with my huge Costco bag, and my ultra-large purse (gave up on the hella-cute teensy one, I need much more STUFF than that one can handle), I was still touched by the love that poured out even before I put the key in the lock. Oh, and here is the 13th white horse. Thinking of moving on to dark horses now, having explored all the vicissitudes of white ones. Plus, white pastels pretty chewed up here. Another trip to Blick is in the near future. Yay.