Expiration Date

Who the hell stamped me “Best Before —”? I am unsure of the exact date but it appears I may have passed my “Desirable Expiration Date”.  Never occurred to me that I might even have one.  I can’t help but think of that silly (not so silly) skit with Tina Fey, Julia Louis-Dreyfuss, Patricia Arquette and Amy Schumer.

Okay, okay, I know, I’m not an actress – so those sorta “rules” are not supposed to apply.  Right, uh huh, sure.  I may not get the gig either.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am very much desirable to the unavailable (read, married), older (you’re 72? I’m only 55, FFS!), substance-enhanced (read drunk or stoned).  Boy, they come at me hard (well, maybe not so much), lemme tell you. Really makes me feel sexy and desirable.  As if it is a turn on to be given a slot in the day when he is available for a quickie in a seedy motel:  “You don’t really want a drink or a meal do you? How ’bout I save a buck and go to your place?”  Or how about being told: “You turn me on, and I’m very romantic but I’m not into the deep dive coz…” Well, coz you’re too old, Dude, and sans blue or pink pill, the parts don’t function!  But the best is being approached by someone who is three sheets to the wind or buzzed out of his mind. Yeah, that really tells me how fabulous I am… truly. I do look my best when I’m blurry.

I am, of course generalizing here. Not all married men want just a quickie; not all older gents have issues; as for sex with drunks? No thanks, there I can say I have been there, done that, don’t want the t-shirt, or the lack of, um, satisfaction for all your going-nowhere efforts.

While I am not looking for a steady boyfriend and definitely not marriage, it would be nice to meet a fella or two with whom I could go on dates with. You know, dinner with interesting conversation and a movie and who knows, maybe a horizontal mambo should the desire strike us both – without the worry of someone being hurt, or business remaining unfinished, or feeling like I should find a bill or two on the nightstand.

I’m not dead yet – very much alive, to tell the truth – and though things may not be as quite fresh and firm as they once were, they are not that bad at all and still quite ripe (not yet over-ripe) for the picking, or more precisely, a fondling. The ladies my age and older (those who are still interested in romance and passion – and I respect those who have closed that door, even if I don’t understand it) know that we still have many good years ahead of us.

We want to feel the goosebumps with a light touch of fingertips and lips as we tilt our head back, exposing our neck. We want to feel the heat rise in our bellies and spread out through to the tips of our extremities, imbuing us a warm glow. Give us cause to catch our breath in anticipation of what comes next.

Nope.  My “Best Before” date has not arrived yet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve something better.

Lyrics to the song are here.

 

 

 

Highs and Lows

Highs and Lows

You crash every party

Your body not present

But your aura hovers, waiting

And then it starts

One memory begets another

Each one adding their part

In their story of you

Soon all are are laughing

Myself included

‘Til I drive home, alone

Lost for a little while

 

The Hands Have It

I’ve been binge-watching “Call the Midwife” – I swear, if you have not seen this one, check it out. It’s fantabulous. It starts in 1957, and takes place in East End London, more specifically in the town of Poplar. This is a very poor area of London and the residents count on the midwives of Nonnatus House, a convent run by nuns and housing both the sisters and nurses, all of whom are midwives. It is based on the memoirs of Jennifer Worth. For once, nuns are shown in a beautifully positive light. The relationship between the young nurses and the nuns is a lovely and symbiotic one.

Where am I going with this?  One of the characters, Sister Julienne, played by Jenny Agutter, has the kindest eyes, the gentlest voice and most beautiful and expressive hands.  Which got me to thinking…

I am a ‘hands’ person. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a fetish but I will notice if you bite your nails or not, if your nails are well-manicured or not. Too-long nails on a man turns me right off, even if they are buffed and polished or, heaven help me, filed just so. I have come to the conclusion that I could never date a guitarist who doesn’t use a pick.  With one long finger-nailed hand to pluck the strings and the other one “normal”, I find myself shuddering. Sorry to my guitarist friends in this situation. It’s not you, it’s me…

And, obviously, as I have begun this post, it’s not just about the men’s hands, though I will definitely go into detail just below 😉

Have you seen Jane Fonda’s hands? Her fingers are so long and slim and arthritic-bump-free considering her age. Yes, they are old hands but they are still elegant.

I have a friend whose hands fascinate me. They are smooth, blemish and bump free. They are beautifully shaped and I cannot lie, I am a tad jealous. She keeps her nails short and natural and are just as nice as one who spends a fortune on manicures. I, on the other hand, have sadly inherited my mother’s and my grandmother’s hands, though my fingers are much longer (for which I am grateful). I wanted to think the bumps and marks were from years of misuse but alas, they are aflicted with arthritic joints. My index fingers, mostly. Crept up on me unnoticed ’til the day I banged my finger against something hard and shooting pain had me blinking back tears. As if that is not enough, I suffer from Raynaud’s Syndrome which is basically an allergic reaction to the cold.  This, too, has been a slowly creeping thing. If I hold anything cold for too long, I can feel my fingers start tingling and am usually too late to stop it. I end up with a few of my fingers looking like they belong on a cadaver! Two to three fingers per hand are affected so don’t be surprised to see me driving with ski mitts come November. That steering wheel causes me serious grief. And is one of the main reasons I have not opened my own restaurant or worked in a kitchen.  I cut a large piece of cold fish and every few minutes, I needs must run my hands under warm water.

Now, that said, when it comes to male hands, I take special note 🙂 I like a big strong hand with long fingers (nails kept short – and not by chewing, please).  A nice ring with a wide band enhances as well.  Where does this come from?  I cannot say.  Or can I?

My father had wonderful hands. They were exactly as I’ve described above: big, strong, long-fingered, capable… He wore a size 12 on his ring finger!  Even when he was ill and becoming ever more frail his hands still held a certain strength and could engulf mind in his. Those hands could build things yet could be gentle. They were eloquent yet stern.  A finger pointed in your direction when you did wrong was one thing and I got one smack from them that I’ll never forget! And he regretted it the second he did it.

They were always warm and I cannot say how many times he took my hands in his hands and warmed them.  Why, even in the days when we would snowmobile, he would switch mittens with each of us, warming them up and returning them when done. How he managed to squeeze those paws into our children-sized mitts is beyond me, but he did.

If I’m to psychoanalyse myself, I guess there is a comfort in knowing that strong hands mean I will be taken care of.  It’s silly, really. I know plenty of man who were not endowed with large hands but who are strong and very much take care of their significant others. The size of the hand does not measure it’s strength.  But I’ll still

Maybe This no doubt has influenced how I judge men’s hands today. I used to work with a man whom I’d tease every time I got a chance. At a Christmas party I told his wife he had the most beautiful hands ever – she laughed and said “Don’t I know it!” Richard just pshawed us, blushed and walked away, muttering “You ladies are weird.”  We ladies looked at each other and smiled. We knew what we were talking about.

A funny thing happened after Mick passed away. I put his wedding ring next to my father’s. Exactly the same size.  Although his hand was a worker’s hand, strong and big, his fingers were not as long…go figure

Comparing Zeke’s paw to Mick’s hand

 

Keeping me safe

In My Life – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #48

It’s officially Friday as the midnight bell has rung. Took me a while to get this right. I love Crispina‘s challenge and had planned on writing something else once I got home from work. But just before I started my car, I was going to write some nonsense on Facebook when I saw a post from my friend, Linsey. I had to change my plans.

In My Life

The sky was showing off with gusto

Pinks and purples, peaches and blues all swirling about

Leaving me wondering who she was trying to impress

Still dazzled, I read the sad news

And was brought up short

My friend’s husband had passed

His soul has crossed over the bridge as they say

His time of suffering is blessedly over

Leaving behind his loved ones as relieved as they are sad

I never met the man but it matters not

He made my TFAY* happy and that is all I need to know

 

It was you, Tim, painting the sky so brilliantly

All the while

Making that bridge glow a golden yellow, reflecting your light

 

You may be gone but as John said “In My Life”:

I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I’ll love you more

As those who loved you will do for you

Rest in peace, Tim

Tim and Linsey

*TFAY – Twin From Another Year

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #126 – Haven

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

 

 

They make you cry

They make you laugh

They drive you crazy

 

No longer babies

Soon, they’ll fly away

 

Still, you hope they know

 

With you,

They’ll always find

A safe haven

 

 

This, That, a Walk and a Shout Out To Bronx

Last week, in preparation to try and capture the Harvest Moon, I took a few pictures a couple nights before. The partial moon was bright and my hopes were high because I am limited with the lens I have plus I have no idea what the hell I am doing. I Googled how to go about it and managed to get this one. It’s not as good as so many out there, but it pleases me anywah. Especially since the damn Harvest Moon was behind clouds by the time I got home and wanted to get it!

I am now officially counting down the days till the golf club closes. It can’t happen soon enough. All of us employees are tired and just done with seeing and serving these members day after day – even if most are nice and sweet.

This is the last day of September – yay! Which means in two weeks, or mid-october, the restaurant will be open for dinner (or supper, if you prefer) only on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Wooooo hooooo! And the other days cannot be later than, say 6-7 pm. Bliss. My feet are already starting to celebrate.

I laugh because many members ask what I do once the golf club is closed. My usual answer is: A whole helluva lot of NOTHING! We recuperate for the first month (when many of get sick coz, yanno, the letting go of all the tiredness, stress, et al). Mind you, we still work the Christmas parties so that means we work some weekends till mid-December. Still. January will be here in the blink of an eye and by then, I shall be putting myself out there to find something else to earn a living.

Friday was a beautiful day so Zeke and I decided – OK, Zeke had no choice but it matters not, as long as we go somewhere, he is happy – to go to Parc de la Freyère at the other end of Boucherville and see if we couldn’t capture something interesting. As I finally found my battery charger for my camera in one of my still unpacked boxes, I was good to go.

Did I mention that in another life, Zeke must have been a water dog? Bloody guy just waits for me to be concentrated on photographing a bug or something to hop in where I had just told him no!

Can I go in Mom?

And while Mom is photographing this

Zeke is doing this

Noooooooo!!! Thankfully this is duckweed (thank you FB peeps who know stuff) and just fell off as we continued our walk.

Zeke and I ran into many a wildlife photographer with their big-ass lenses and tripods. I just moseyed along with mine, sans tripod, and figured I’d get what I could. Many of them said the birds were all in hiding. Ah well. I don’t have the patience to sit and wait, all hidden in the rushes so I just smiled and kept on.

Walking along the shore, we came upon a gaggle of geese.

Then came upon a dock

So Zeke and I lay down to just be in the moment (and dry off Zeke before I allowed him back into my car!) and whilst doing so, a magnificent turkey vulture flew above.

Happy with ourselves, we made our way back and crossed the little bridge and to my surprise, there was a magnificent heron.

I have another great image but you’ll have to go to Sorryless’ blog on Wednesday to see it 😉

And speaking of Sorryless… The owner of said blog, a certain Marc Anthony, or Marco or Bronx or B for short as I call him. Well, today is his birthday! No way I cannot NOT acknowledge this wonderful ‘Murican I had the luck of meeting over the blogosphere.

This guy has come into my life and given me so much. He’s got the greatest laugh, the wittiest brain, a wicked sense of humour and a taste for music that has me diving into new stuff daily.

He is snarky and loving and do not ever mess with anyone he holds dear because that Bronx will come out.

His writing is what captured my attention way back in February 2018. And since then it has only gotten better (or rather, I have just learned to truly appreciate his art). Thanks to him, and his encouragement, I have let my own writing wings open wide.

I cherish our friendship and know that he has my back just as I have his.

Happy birthday, B! I love you!

Crap! Forgot my video!!

Dick and Rick – Friday Fictioneers

It has been Thursday for 16 minutes already but here I am, finally getting my Friday Fictioneers story up. I wrote a whole story at work and then decided… meh. So I flushed it. Then I did a little research because this is what I really wanted to share and voilà, here I am!

Thank you, always, to Rochelle for being here week after week, gathering us crazy peeps together. This week, she chose Linda Kreger‘s fabulous photo.

Wanna play along? Click on the blug frog below to add your link!

G’head! Click me!

Dick and Rick

Dick and June were told to put Rick into an institution when he was born. He would never amount to anything as he was a spastic quadriplegic with cerebral palsy.  They dismissed them as they noticed their son’s eyes followed them when they moved and lit up when they spoke to him.

Ignoring all naysayers, they treated Rick like any normal kid and eventually got what they needed for Rick to be able to communicate.

A love of sports was all Dick needed to be his son’s arms and legs to participate in his first race.

Team Hoyt was born.

“Dad, when I’m running, it feels like I’m not handicapped.”