For a period of time I will just write of trivial things. There is no purpose in doing so, other than in marking one day from another. And then I will take spells when I will write more emotionally. I suppose the purpose in that is just actually writing it down for me – making myself find words for it. And maybe so that someday someone will know that I wasn’t all two-dimensional – a pancake, as a friend once described it. I may not have been a great 3-D person, but that I have thought about things, regretted things and  understand that I have wrestled with my flaws – am sorry for them.

So what now? A litany of sad thoughts? The memories I keep in a bottle in the closet as if they were immortal fireflies? No. No. I don’t want to do that.

But I don’t have any AmeliaJake jokies today. Nothing particularly odd happened – no paint cans tipping over – although when I put the lid back on and gave it a tap with the hammer, little droplets flew out onto my glasses and cheek. I was actually in a position where little miss who has worn glasses for half a century and claims she can see through major smears finally decided on her own she should actually clean them. Der Bingle will appreciate that; he started wearing glasses as an adult and I think he’s a sissy for cleaning his glasses frequently. He can’t understand my not cleaning mine.

When he first got glasses, he actually bought cleaning cloths for them! I was so stunned . . . my gosh, didn’t the man have a shirt tail handy?  Wasn’t his breath capable of making a light fog on the lens? Ah, well.

I’ve been thinking about my parents and their being dead. And other things. Lots of “what if’s” and other laments. I believe I’ve been thinking more about the repercussions of being a jerk more than I usually do. No rationalizing; just the facts, ma’am.

It’s painful. When my granddaughter got her first B+, she lay down on the floor and sobbed; her grandpa lay down beside her and told her it was all right. I think I want to lie on the floor for awhile; I don’t think it will ever be all right, yet I’m betting I’ll eventually get up.

I am adapting; it is not easy. New jeans style from CJ Banks. Actually, I thought my jeans genes were just fine, but no, the designers had to do a little therapy. More Spandex.

First I thought they had just changed the cut – offerring four styles with MODERATELY CURVY on one end of the spectrum and CITY on the other. I didn’t look at the composition of the fabric –  I mean denim is denim. Well, no. My trusty almost entirely cotton jeans now are being produced with scads of spandex. I ordered a couple of new pair this week and when I looked at them I thought, “What is this?” But not that calmly.

I decided I needed to find a new manufacturer and looked on the Internet, only to find out that most of the plus size petites are now spandex-ized. Anyway, I put the new jeans on and they didn’t feel too bad. And people said they looked good on me. So, okay,  maybe I can adjust.

Only there’s this thing: the old jeans stretch and stay stretched. Open the waist button and they fall down. The new ones stretch out and stretch back in as you bend, but if you open the waist, they want to slowly retract to their packaged-size. It is an odd sensation.

I wonder if this is like women going from corsets to girdles . . . and to control top pantyhose. But now to denim spandex? Oh, I’m on the old lady end of the spectrum.