More Links Do Not Make a Stronger Chain

via More Links Do Not Make a Stronger Chain

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The most dreaded words
Ever said:
Have you seen my…?

I fear I am losing my memory.   It was never good.  I remember that I used to laugh and joke that my memory was so poor that no one would ever know when I became senile.

I haven’t made that joke lately.   I have tried to make everything neat and orderly so there would be a place for everything and everything would always be in its place.  That’s not so easy when I am not a neatnik and I live with an almost hoarder who sets things down in the nearest work surface where I will need to find work space.

So?  I move The Thing.   Then?  Then The Thing is needed.  Where did you put The Thing?  becomes the crisis of the moment and I am again reminded: maybe it will be easy to know when I am senile. And – maybe when is now.

Daily Post: Sweeping Motions


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Snob? Me?

Stuck-up! That was the worst insult we kids used aloud in my area back in the ’50s. We heard all kinds of words: the ‘h’ and ‘n’ words, for instance. But we knew enough to whisper those. Stuck up? That word could be thrown loudly about the playground without adult intervention.

I suppose it isn’t surprising that those of us worried about what folks thought about us spent a lot of time learning to hide anything that marked us as ‘better than’. Through the years, I’ve learned about the harm those whispered insults caused. But, only lately have I come to see the effects of our prejudice against thinking too highly of oneself.

Yet, I know I am a snob. I know I think I am better than some. What IS the prejudice, though? Something to do with education, but that’s not it. Folks seeming completely satisfied knowing little outside of themselves? Folks I find nothing in common with? By many people’s interests that might include most of the Universe, but I am interested in ever so much! I’m able to relate to almost anyone.

You do not have to meet me halfway, I will converse about your interests. I will happily learn what you teach me about what I do not know. But: aren’t you interested about anything except your own hatred of those who are not like you?

I was wrong. I DID my identify my prejudice.

Daily Prompts – Upturned Noses:

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Endurance - My Mom

Endurance – My Mom

My mother was a strength of force that was not to be ignored.  She overcame. There is no way to enumerate the many obstacles she overcame in her life in anything short of a book. Her last hurdle, however, was longevity.  She didn’t want it.  Handicapped after a stroke twenty years prior to her death, she was depressed and often verbalized her opinion that life was no longer worth living.  (Yes, of course!  I tried to get her help for that.  She was not suicidal and refused help for that and it is not legal to force unwanted help.  That was my hurdle.)

She lived, though.  She lived and fought and scrapped – with amazing humor.   She endured.


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Oh, my gosh!  I only have 10 minutes!  There is no way I’m going to make it!  Everybody knows how slow I am! It isn’t even possible. How do I get myself into these pickles? What am I thinking?  I’m not smart enough to work that fast!

Look at the clock.  Four minutes gone already, and I’ve had to slow down to correct four mistakes!

Oh!  Remember? Slow down to go fast. That is the only way it works for me. Slow down. That’s right. There is no need to panic. I’ve got this. You know?  When I learn to use positive self-talk right from the start of an endeavor, I’m going to be spectacular!

Wow!  I’ve GOT this!  Nothing to it.  Ha!  And my clients used to tell me positive self-talk didn’t work!

(Response to 9/18/14 Daily Prompt:  Ready-Set-Done)

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Gramma’s Closets, Explained

Gramma's ornament closet is full - floor to ceiling.

Gramma’s ornament closet is full – floor to ceiling.

“Stuff!”  Too much “stuff” to be more specific.  I need to get rid of “stuff”.  Let’s take a look at some of my “stuff”.

“My mother painted this ceramic cookie jar.  Didn’t she do a beautiful job?”  When I dropped the lid, it broke into a thousand tiny pieces.  My ex- said I’d never get it put back together.   I did a pretty darn good job, if I do say so.

“Look at this closet!  I have Christmas ornaments from three households.”  My mother collected these, in these boxes here,  over her 85 years.  These boxes are the ones my ex-and I collected over our 32 years together,  and these are the ones Fred and his ex- collected over their 25 years – and – of course, these are the ones Fred and I have added to the collection since we’ve been married.   We have hand made ornaments from six kids and 14 grandchildren.   “Hey! Look! Here’s one my nephew made for my mom!”

One of these days I’m going to thin out this mess, I swear.   But, for now – while I still can identify (almost) every piece – I’ll hang onto them a little longer.

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Identity: a tanka


I need to find self.
I would not be my father,
Am not my mother.
I still have not found myself,
I think I should look at me.

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