Winds of Change

There is a fierce wind at work outside today. It appears to be rearranging everything not nailed down and a few things that were. The building that my condo rests in has been blown eastward a full 6 inches and threatens to continue this unusual migration. At this rate, our building is likely to require an address change by early afternoon; preferably, remaining in its' current zip code.

During pre-flight preparation, all apparel is securely latched in place, all seats and tray tables are in the upright and locked position. I exit the front door of our building with a posture of preparedness worthy of a true adventurer. I'm promptly sucked out into a force that I can only liken to that of a jet engine. My neighbor and her little dog, Toto, fly by; enroute to Kansas, I suppose. The most unusual inventory of personal belongings collect, like so much jetsam, clinging nervously to corner and niche. Impromptu sculpture; accidental performance art played out with great display. I would applaud; but, to pause is folly. Individuals strive to motivate forward against the wind like a great army of mimes.

As you know, landing with a great crosswind is a tricky business. I end up overshooting my destination by a full two blocks. I have successfully exited the powerful slipstream and prepare to assess the damage. It appears that the high winds have successfully blasted every bit of makeup off the west side of my face. I look like both the before and the after photo following a makeover. As for my hair, I look like a volumized version of Donald Trump. Mother Nature has given me a cubist quality; very Picasso today. Who am I to argue with great art and a free makeover. I decide to embrace it, add a little lipstick and a runway-stomp. I begin my day as a trendsetter.

Note: A whirlwind is only a positive force when referring to romance.

The Science of a Handbag

I carry a serious-size purse. The kind of purse that could house a private jet, if I was ever stranded on a desert island. It's not confined to carrying a single volume to read on the train but, the entire library of congress. This particular bag has a basement-level that's perfect for storing items reserved for occasional use. Daily, it governs with a wisdom and depth that successfully navigates all practical affairs of life with time to spare. It's great weight has an anti-theft property (somewhere in the city is a thief who will never be the same). Essentially, it is a magnanimous portal of provision; all this while projecting fabulous fashion. Exceptional and I exceptional by association.

Like a girl scout on steroids, I am prepared for a host of my own needs, as well as, those of random strangers. From the sublime to the ridiculous--provision is secure. One minor hiccup. This bag can be a black hole, of sorts; a hungry vortex laying claim to loose change and, occasionally, innocent by-standers (wow, is that ever embarrassing when that happens!). I ask you, exactly where does stuff go when it's placed inside the vast, dark universe of its' interior confines? I propose that each addition is drawn into a pre-ordained, 10 minute orbit--no more, no less. This would explain everything. Items, like house keys, can vanish completely; thus, defying all-out search involving an all-points bulletin and bloodhounds. Said items will automatically reappear in 10 minutes--no more, no less; thus, proving my theory.

It can take several orbits to find smaller items like my mental faculties.

Nature in Urban Clime

Water sounds are like God's own lullabies. Tranquil, peaceful. They quietly meander, soothing frayed edges. Last evening, I floated downstream on one such reverie. A good book in hand; I slipped easily into its' pages. A steady, gentle flow of water played through my subconscious. I succumb to it's siren song until I recall that I actually live in a concrete tower. Water sounds can only mean one thing.....I spring (no pun intended, just brilliant coincidence) to my feet.

Discovery is made; I stand and stare like I'd been tazered. The toilet is bubbling over, ever so gently, like a porcelain fountain in the center of a piazza. Momentarily transfixed by the beauty of this disaster, it occurs to me that a fountain would actually be a great addition to the ambiance of our home. Of course, this particular fountain might be a hard-sell to the neighbor downstairs; he's really grounded in practicality.

I wade in to turn off the water supply, at it's source. Icy water ends all romantic notion. Gladly, this puts an end to the merry, little stream making its way across the living room. The bug-eyed baby scampers for higher ground; the pragmatic half of our doggie duo. Our poodle-girl is sporty and loves water. Before I can form the word no-o-o-o-o, she gleefully takes a skid through the middle of our new waterway, as if skiing. She flashed me a grin as she flew past (because insult had to be added to injury); displaying her very best, "Hey, Mom, watch me, watch me" expression. Great, a toilet water soaked poodle...this is getting better by the minute (note: this really is sarcasm, I haven't entirely lost my grip on life). Apparently, this mess was determined to grow legs and stomp all over my evening. I have no appreciation for dark comedy of this sort.

This toilet has an evil bent and acts up frequently; despite the fact, that it has had a transplant of all its' vital parts--twice. I think it's possessed. It's one of those "thorns in your side" that you envision blowing up in the backyard. Repair jobs of this kind are no easy task. Failure is coerced by the fact that the instructions are written in an enigmatic code with one piece missing (sort of like when you asked Aunt Gladys for the recipe to her signature layer cake with the perfect swirly frosting; yet, it never turns out quite right or even edible because there has been some tampering with the formula. Sorry, Aunt Glad, we caught on to you years ago). Well, I'm convinced that whoever writes these plumbing instructions has a vendetta against mankind or plumbing...possibly both.

The mess is cleaned up; repair resolved upon. I pause for applause with my wrench raised heavenward....I am woman....Iam plumber....I am tired!

I resolve to sleep with one eye open tonight, lest I dream that I am rafting downstream. And the saga continues.

On Your Marks...

The alarm sounds; a rude and vociferous device, lacking both tact and diplomacy, as it ushers in each week day. My feet hit the floor running. I bolt for the starting line--the bathroom. Bleary and blurry (that age-old, hilarious duo) cause me to trip over one of our dogs 3 times, giving my husband unfair advantage--argggh! Obviously, he and the bug-eyed baby are in cahoots, again. He takes the lead, enjoying a swaggering victory lap, as he begins the day in the winners' circle.

Thirty years of test trials have proven that it takes this man an eternity + 10 minutes to shave. I know what you are thinking, Michelangelo could sculpt him a whole new one in less time; nonetheless, the current methodology prevails. I am not one to sit on my laurels and wait (mostly, because this often proves painful--trust me). So, I pad toward the kitchen to lay claim to the last bagel. I ask you, exactly who is the victor now! My son heads out the door with both dogs in tow or is it the other way round? Hard to tell from here.

A certain quiet reigns with a fragile brevity. Thankfully, the coffee pot is of an independent nature and it has begun merrily steaming of its' own accord. The most heavenly aroma greets me; surely God's own morning nectar. I pause to breathe it in. Sunshine fills the room to overflowing. Since, all this sunshhine is a calorie-free treat, I consider buttering my bagel. However, this is a "victory" bagel and worthy of far greater consideration slathered upon it. I opt for Nutella. A favored choice; coffee and Nutella have inspired great choral composition in angelic realms. Swathed in sunshine and my cozy robe, I pick up the morning paper and settle in to enjoy my morning repast.

The day takes a sudden left turn, headlong it careens into comedy. New discovery arrives with the subtlety of a 4 car pileup...today is Saturday! I hate when this happens.

Clutter :)

Clutter on the kitchen counter top assaults my peace of mind. "It must be banished from the Kingdom," declares the Queen, with raised scepter, to no one in particular. Poised for perennial battle, I prepare to subdue the mundane piles o' life. I survey the breadth of the task. It's been said that clutter is evidence of a life well-lived. I have enough evidence here for my entire neighborhood. How grateful they will be to know that.

You'd think that this kitchen counter top was made of Velcro. It's host to an adhoc collection of family paraphernalia worthy of ceremonial deposit inside a time capsule. The generous, yet anonymous, donors are nowhere to be found... or, perhaps, entombed amidst this rubble. Who can tell? I sigh resignation. I'm usually the one left standing by the ominous, anonymous pile every time the music stops in this cosmic game of musical chairs. The Queen, definitely, needs a new strategy.

So, I muse--A catapult would make this job alot more fun. Perhaps, David Copperfield could show up for tea and make it all disappear in performance art. As you well know, art cannot be denied. If only I were famous; I could sell it on ebay. All superior notions. Well, superior to the "sort and pitch" session that lies ahead of me. This particular clutter looks concerned, as I mutter about matchbooks.

However, the clutter on my writing desk is of another genus. This clutter is wonderfully fertile; friendly with a warm familiarity not unlike an embrace. Discovery lays amongst these pages. Treasure crowns each pile. Abundant evidence of the life within. Pictures, snippets that inspire. Thoughts nurtured; notes on the way to contented destination. To sit, within its comfortable confines, is to be cradled. A wonderful world unto itself. A retreat.

The Queen sweeps the random collection from the counter top to be disposed of by Sir "Hefty". I hear he loves to recycle. Peace reigns in the Kingdom.

Lost & Found

50 is fabulous!! This euphoria is occasionally interupted by the crackling of my knees, as I ascend a staircase. Accompanied by the loud snapping of synapses, as I try to recall where I laid my keys. I've lost my capacity for endless activity. Now less fluid, I'm really more of a concentrate. A lively, bright cologne becomes a complex, spicy eau de parfum that goes to bed long before midnight.

Time has traveled by at great speeds reshaping most of my personal terrain--a generous benefactor. Perhaps you've noticed that time doesn't travel light, it arrives laden with baggage. Literally. There is bagg-age under my eyes, upper arms and, well, other places. Essentially, everything settles about an inch below the waterline. Perky and bright now refer to the quality of my morning espresso. Apparently, among other things, time is a comedian. Some days, time is hilarious.

I'm learning to navigate by these new stars. Life is full of enough daily discovery to rival Columbus or Marconi. I lose enough hair each day to knit myself a counterpart (perhaps she could keep track of the keys). The floor is, definitely, farther away each time I bend over (Is this my imagination or have you noticed this, as well?). Candlelight is my fabulous new beauty secret. And, the cavalcade of discovery continues on.

Currently, I daydream about the realities of replacement parts (pie-in-the-sky; afterall, is still pie). I have a penchant for remedy--time waits for no one. A savy girlfried taught me to check the bed carefully each morning for parts that fall off in the night. This is a hilarious philosophy until you actually find one! I round this corner to find rich stores of experience, like great platters of pate de foie gras with cognac, spilling over into depth and perspective (never known for my grace--I spill everything, even metaphor).

I settle in and enjoy the view....50 is fabulous!! I've finally arrived; it's me, only better. I know the secret handshake and everything. Life begins on a whole new plane, as I prepare to converse with the Cheshire Cat on a great many topics.

Essentially, once you shed your glossy shell, you get to enjoy the nut inside! And, she's wonderful!