I was driving home on the Mass ‘Pike the other day and an image came to mind of one of those inflatable clowns - or whatever - that kids used to have that were weighted on the bottom, and you could keep punching them and they just wouldn’t stay down. Sometimes I think that they’re the perfect analogy for life in general. Or, maybe one of those videogames where it simulates driving a car, and obstacles keep jumping up at you, and you have to steer around them. And you keep taking the punches and bouncing back, or dodging the obstacles, or whatever, until that day comes when you don’t bounce back, or you didn’t dodge quickly enough, and you hear the buzzer signifying “Game’s Over!”  And some days, it seems like you’d like it to come sooner rather than later. Oh, not really. Of course not! But today I’m tired. Just bone-tired, as the saying goes, and looking ahead at a month so filled with things to do that I just don’t know how I’m going to get them all done, except that I know I will. I came home early from work because I don’t feel well - nauseous, and slimey. You know that “green-around-the-gills” feeling you get just before you throw up? Well, I’ve been kind of pushing back at that all day long. Bucking up, so to speak, and insisting that I’m okay. Except I’m not. Oh, and my lips have been chapped for the past few days, and today when I woke up, my upper lip was swollen like somebody had popped me one in the mouth. And my back is achey. Omigawd, what a wreck! The khat (Yoko) is up on the kitchen table knocking pens off onto the floor, and the other khat (Daisy) just pooped in the litter box and didn’t cover it. She never covers it. I had to cover it and spray some air freshener. I don’t know why it is that some khats don’t seem to learn to cover their stuff. Oh, well, I just called DH and he’s disposing of it…cleaning the litter boxes altogether, I mean. We have two. Two khats, two litter boxes. My back is uncomfortable. I’ll maybe take some Ibuprophen, but I am a little afraid of aggravating my stomach even further. <shrug> Frankly, I’ve never had a lot of patience with celebrities - who earn their livings because people admire (and pay for) what they do - who act “cranky” or choose not to shake hands or sign an autograph. Not that I’d ever ask any of them for autographs, but some people do, and I think they should sign their danged name on the napkin or whatever. If they don’t want to be recognized by *fans*, then let them stay home. They live a pretty luxurious lifestyle and then have the audacity to disrespect the people who make it possible. You could be the most talented writer, actor, singer, musician - or what have you - in the universe, but if someone didn’t pay to read, watch or listen to you, what good would it do you? I guess I’m just too old to be impressed with anybody’s celebrity, and too old to tolerate their prima donna behavior. Plus, I don’t feel so great, and that makes ME cranky! LOL. See? THIS is why I didn’t need to write anything on my blog today. But, this is, after all, a legitimate mood; it’s perfectly alright to not be upbeat all the danged time!!! (Isn’t it?) Oh, yes. I’m going to make curtains for that bathroom. They’re so simple to make - a lot of hemming, basically. And I may put a ruffled edge, but possibly not. I’m undecided. I’ve kept the three pounds off without paying much attention - well, lots of bending up and down, of course, and walking around stores like Home Depot, and JoAnne’s Fabrics and such. I can’t say I’ve overeaten, either, although I haven’t kept close track. A lot of stuff I seem to think I want, and then half-way through, don’t want it anymore. I have a craving for one of those nice, substantial cakes that our Ruby Jean puts together like magic. That, and a nice cup of chamomile tea - and then a nice long nap.

Okay. Something pleasant. (I have the tea, which DH has ever so considerately prepared for me, but no cake, alas…) The last time my seven-year-old granddaughter was here, she drew a picture of herself and her family (my daughter & son-in-law and their two cats, Sigmund - Siggie - and Jasmine, or Jazz. And Morgan herself, of course.) She sent the picture, along with a charming little letter, to Santa Claus, telling him that she’d been a very good child all year long, and would like a High School Musical DVD for Christmas. (The child has not been raised to be overly-greedy). This past week, I sent her a reply in the mail from Santa, saying that he knew she’d been a very good little child - had even been named “student of the month” at her school recently and been chosen to sing a Christmas solo at church. “Santa” said that he was sure that she would be able to have the DVD she asked for - and “perhaps a few other things as well”. Now, this is the good part. My daughter, as some of you may know, is a clinical social worker, and she has some homeless mothers with children on her caseload who presently live in shelters. Morgan, instead of being glad about the possibility of getting “a few other things”  for herself, immediately expressed her delight at getting those few other things so that she could send them to the children living in the shelters that her mom goes to. Nothing world-shaking, and nothing I haven’t encountered before - after all, when her mom was her age, I was working as the executive director of a large multi-service center, and my daughter, (Morgan’s mom) learned early on to think of others, as well. I’m just so glad to see her passing those values down to her own child. It feels, somehow, like we are all handing down traditions and beliefs from one generation to the next that will outlive any one of us individually. I find it strange, sometimes, to be the family matriarch - at least where my own children and grandchildren are concerned. My sister is older than I, of course, but I mean in my own direct line. My grandmothers are both dead and so is my mother. So that makes me the oldest woman. I feel obligated to demonstrate wisdom, which I often wonder if I have a sufficiency of. I don’t feel as old as I apparently am. I don’t think I actually feel any specific age at all. I feel well - or a bit ill, as today - or happy, or not so happy, sometimes grumpy, sometimes content…etc., etc….but I never feel like any particular age. Sometimes I feel that I have been here forever, and other times I feel quite astonished by the newness of things. It’s surprising to me that things can still surprise me.

Well, my tummy hasn’t revolted yet, and I consider that to be encouraging for sure. Maybe some high fiber, low fat, low calorie crackers, what? (Or maybe a @#$%$#@&^%$# hot fudge sundae?)

I’m off to see the wizard. (Not, but I like how that sounds)

Take good care, you beautiful ones, you.