Monday, September 23, 2013
September Prophecy
What ever happened to the killshot? Or to Snowdon, for that matter. Of course, September still has some days left. Kenya had its own killshot, and who knows what's in store?
Odd Numbers
When I was 11 years old, I considered myself to be grown up. After all, I had a regular job, was pulling in $3.00 a week, and my mother on occasion would borrow from me. I kept my wages in a Lipton Tea box in the right-hand corner of the shelves in my bedroom.
It just occurred to me that my mother then was the same age as my daughter is now. OMG
***And furthermore, my oldest grandchild is the same age as I was then. Whether he considers himself grown up, I'm not certain.
It just occurred to me that my mother then was the same age as my daughter is now. OMG
***And furthermore, my oldest grandchild is the same age as I was then. Whether he considers himself grown up, I'm not certain.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
Envy
I wonder if the high-stakes winners on the game shows are naturally unappealing, or if I just feel that way because I'm jealous of their good fortune.
Ant
There was a time when we actually bought ants, or at least I have memory of having purchased an ant habitat for a young nature enthusiast or two, and the ants must have come with it, as I'm pretty sure it was a closed system. I can not recall what became of it, or of its inhabitants. I know that the advertised "endless hours" of observation of ant life in an ecosystem came nowhere near the time spent watching the ants in the driveway, alternately feeding them from those little sugar packets and devising ways of torture.
And so I find myself, in the fading days of summer, sitting on my front steps and observing ants. I should clarify that all my references are to the medium-sized black ants, not those innocuous tiny red ones that appear to be an infestation, and definitely not those scary big black ones that seem bent on destroying something. The ants are just regular ants, the kind that stay outside and amuse young children with their hell-bent scurrying around. All documentation states that ants are highly disciplined in their lives, with all their societal tasks performed in a regimented manner. But you would never know that by watching them. They scurry back and forth, with a single ant laboriously carrying a large crumb of something, way bigger than itself, only to release it, seemingly at random on the ground, and then take off in another direction. Maybe it was a prearranged drop off point, to be picked up later by a designated transporter ant; no one here will ever know. The follow-up was not that assiduously performed.
The ant this day is pacing back and forth, when from no apparent source, it is suddenly carrying a large piece of something, a piece of cookie perhaps. A large foot tromps down on the ant as it is navigating the brick sidewalk, an instrument of sudden death it would seem. But no, the ant has slid into the cracks between the bricks, and it quickly emerges, burden dropped, and races down the path to where a dead leaf has fallen on the bricks. It halts its progress, and dives under the leaf, where it remains motionless. I sit, watching it. It cowers under the leaf, watching, waiting, for some unknown danger to be gone, for some allotted period of time to pass. I can see it clearly, can determine whether or not it has a future. I go inside. The sun is going down anyway.
And so I find myself, in the fading days of summer, sitting on my front steps and observing ants. I should clarify that all my references are to the medium-sized black ants, not those innocuous tiny red ones that appear to be an infestation, and definitely not those scary big black ones that seem bent on destroying something. The ants are just regular ants, the kind that stay outside and amuse young children with their hell-bent scurrying around. All documentation states that ants are highly disciplined in their lives, with all their societal tasks performed in a regimented manner. But you would never know that by watching them. They scurry back and forth, with a single ant laboriously carrying a large crumb of something, way bigger than itself, only to release it, seemingly at random on the ground, and then take off in another direction. Maybe it was a prearranged drop off point, to be picked up later by a designated transporter ant; no one here will ever know. The follow-up was not that assiduously performed.
The ant this day is pacing back and forth, when from no apparent source, it is suddenly carrying a large piece of something, a piece of cookie perhaps. A large foot tromps down on the ant as it is navigating the brick sidewalk, an instrument of sudden death it would seem. But no, the ant has slid into the cracks between the bricks, and it quickly emerges, burden dropped, and races down the path to where a dead leaf has fallen on the bricks. It halts its progress, and dives under the leaf, where it remains motionless. I sit, watching it. It cowers under the leaf, watching, waiting, for some unknown danger to be gone, for some allotted period of time to pass. I can see it clearly, can determine whether or not it has a future. I go inside. The sun is going down anyway.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Million Second Agony
I watched just enough of Ryan Seacrest's new show last night to see a young woman plunged into agony. An awkward moment for sure, worsened by the host's, after acknowledging victory for her opponent, telling her to stay right there, giving her false hope. Evidently it took her a fraction of a second too long to multiply 16 x 6. Sob, sob; Ho-hum.
Monday, September 16, 2013
I caved
Against my avowed wishes, I did succumb to watching DWTS after all. My major concern now is not that Valerie will suffer a seizure (though it's a given she'll withdraw after a few shows), not that Jack will have a relapse, not that Bill or the comedian will have a heart attack, but that Derek will herniate a disc or other body part if he has to lift Amber. ****(I have a feeling Elizabeth Berkeley will not last as long as some seem to think.)
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