Yesterday found me in LaGrange County, mowing on the Toro. It was not hot – maybe around 70 degrees at times – and I got along pretty well, didn’t run over anything and saw no snakes.

It appears that my mind might have gone into idle and stayed there because that paragraph read like one of those journals people write while lost in the jungle/forest/desert.

On the way back, I detoured up to Sturgis, Michigan where I graduated from high school 50 years ago this month. I was thirsty and craved one of the mango iced-tea drinks they have; I was also dirty and my hair was sticking out under my Dorfman Pacific crushable hat. In short, I was a sight and, had I gone into Wal-Mart, I imagine I would have wound up on the “People of” site.

I got my drink and sat there looking whatever and when old(er) people came in, I would sneak a look to see if I recognized them. I surmised if I didn’t know them, they did not know me.

Fifty years ago, I looked at the people having 50 year reunions and thought “geezers.” Now I am the geezer; how did this happen?

You know you’re having a sad day when a William Faulkner story makes you happier and an escape novel makes you want to puke because it’s so predictable plot with no sensitive ear to the English language.

There is definitely something about the rhythm of poetry or the glass-like flow of prose like water over smooth stones. I think I just did something in that sentence that illustrates my point. I had a first typed rocks, but quickly replaced it with stones. Rocks is technically right, but it doesn’t add the soft touch needed to capture the peacefulness of the scene.

I might be wrong there, but I doubt it.

I think I am beginning to really show the stress I imagine myself to be under. Or maybe the stress is showing me the truth, but I look in the mirror and I want to grimace at the not grotesque, but seemingly ugly lines my face has taken on.

Today I used the weedwhacker to edge along the sidewalk. It was not a big mistake, but I think I should have practiced someplace else before undertaking the task. Fortunately, I ran out of string on my reel and took that as a prompt to quit. Let’s just say that where the ground once encroached on the sidewalk like dunes in the desert, it now scallops along like the edge of the ocean.

Maybe at least people will walk along and think, “Well, she tried.”

Yes, well, I was just taking a lookTHIS PLACE for, oh, broadening my horizons? Out of intellectual curiosity?

I looked at the calendar and noticed I had not posted since I had my teeth cleaned. Having gaps in posting is becoming a habit with me. I used to type away here about lots of stuff, just because I felt like it.

I think I still feel like expressing myself; it is just that I have discerned a complaining trend to my thoughts – ignore those about Joe Biden, that’s just common sense.

I have had lots of good moments, but writing about them feels like an exercise. If the words that spring to mind were to be spoken rather than typed, they would be pushing my teeth out, dripping with sarcasm. I would be a wolverine on this word processor, my little fingers flying with indignation and outrage.

ONE BIG GRIPE

However, that is not the wisest thing to do. I’m actually thinking Voodoo.