...for life; for a growing soul.
from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
...sweetie darlings.
Dita Parker
Sunday, April 21, 2019
Friday, April 5, 2019
Enter Sandman
Temperature: 10/50 degrees with severe road dust, a sure sign of spring.
Eating: Just had lunch, thanks.
Drinking: Straight from the tap. And I do mean water, you alkies. (The groundwater is excellent and plentiful up here.)
Watching: The Umbrella Academy. If you like your superheroes varied, your action laced with dark humor, plots that makes your brain sprain, and Mary J. Blige, this one’s for you.
Listening: To migratory birds announce their arrival. Well, hello, and welcome!
Reading: We discussed this, remember?
Thinking: We bid a final farewell to my oldest aunt earlier this week. I sat there thinking how not so long ago it was all weddings and christenings with the occasional funeral thrown in for balance. Is it funerals with the occasional wake thrown in to tip the scale from now on? Because Reaper always gets the last word? Nothing offhand in these observations, mind you, or anything particularly morbid or depressed, for that matter. Just something that sprang to mind amid aging relatives and memories of loved ones lost.
Feeling: A weight on my chest in the morning. But that’s just Chloe the cat. Be well, sweetie darlings, wherever you are.
Eating: Just had lunch, thanks.
Drinking: Straight from the tap. And I do mean water, you alkies. (The groundwater is excellent and plentiful up here.)
Watching: The Umbrella Academy. If you like your superheroes varied, your action laced with dark humor, plots that makes your brain sprain, and Mary J. Blige, this one’s for you.
Listening: To migratory birds announce their arrival. Well, hello, and welcome!
Reading: We discussed this, remember?
Thinking: We bid a final farewell to my oldest aunt earlier this week. I sat there thinking how not so long ago it was all weddings and christenings with the occasional funeral thrown in for balance. Is it funerals with the occasional wake thrown in to tip the scale from now on? Because Reaper always gets the last word? Nothing offhand in these observations, mind you, or anything particularly morbid or depressed, for that matter. Just something that sprang to mind amid aging relatives and memories of loved ones lost.
Feeling: A weight on my chest in the morning. But that’s just Chloe the cat. Be well, sweetie darlings, wherever you are.
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