Five Minute Friday: Beloved

5-minute-friday-1I’m not feeling it.

Beloved is for the new bride, honeymoon-rumpled and smiling. Beloved is for the newly born, powder-fresh and still a little wet behind the ears. Beloved is even a slightly strange book by Toni Morrison.

But it’s not me. I’m not feeling it.

I’m bewitched, bothered and bewildered, but not beloved. I’ve been besotted. I’m currently bespectacled. I’m even a little bedraggled, since I just finished salting the winter-time sidewalks. But I’m not beloved. I’m sometimes benighted and sometimes even bedazzled, but I’m not feeling beloved.

Fortunately, my feelings have nothing to do with the truth.

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. … In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent His only Son into the world so that we might have life through Him. … Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. (1 John 4:7, 9, 11)


What’s Five Minute Friday?

A blog-prompt project dreamt up by LisaJo Baker, which you can read about here. The skinny is that you spend five minutes of writing, generally unedited (I correct typos, WAY too OCD not to do that, and set up links), on a prompt that she provides just after midnight via a tweet, then spread the word, and link up. Interested? Join up. Check it out.

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You’re Only As Old As You Feel

Old woman with rollator

Old woman with rollator (Photo credit: Verbal Jam)

In the course of the average day, I feel every age from 6 to 600. One minute, I’m cackling like a happy hen, feeling good, feeling sexy. Within an hour, I’m creeping up the stairs and feeling as winded as the last person to cross the finish line in the senior division of the local 10K. (Don’t get me wrong, here. Running is great, but you won’t catch me doing it unless I have to catch a train in Chicago.) Please, get me a walker, and put a basket on the front, while you’re at it. The next minute, I’m chortling like a toddler on an overdose of fruit snacks.

I used to be such an active woman. But I just, literally, have no energy. (I also think I have some high blood pressure issues going, but we’ll see what the new doc says about that. Appointment is in a few weeks…) I’ve always been more of a morning person, and found my best hours for mental acuity were happening before noon, but lately, it’s not happening. Where I used to have five good hours, I feel lucky if I have five good minutes. My mental energy is little better than my physical energy, but it is a little better.

I need to exercise more, there’s no doubt about it. I can’t believe I used to have a gym membership where I lifted weights, went to a belly dance class, and zoomed around a roller skating rink, all in the same week. I thought I would do more of that, once I moved to Milwaukee, but instead, it’s been worse. I thought it would be nice to have things within walking distance, but instead, because it’s the East Side (and therefore the happening place to live), it’s more expensive, and my income did not increase to compensate.

Don’t even get me started on New Year’s resolutions. I don’t like ‘em, and I usually don’t keep ‘em. Neither does anyone else that I’ve met. Ever.

But I have to do something. I can’t just end up fat and sassy. I mean, I’m already that, so would that be fatter and sassier? Hmmm… Does sassiness increase with fatness? Is that a direct proportion? Mmm… math always gives me energy.

On and Off the Wagon

I wonder who Julia is?

I have an addiction problem, but it’s not what you think. (Well, except for the chocolate.)  I’m addicted to getting my way. Whatever I like, whenever I like. Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not the boss of me. From what I understand from other people, it’s just like being an alcoholic.

And it’s not good. I don’t just mean from a Christian point of view, although that’s certainly a valid one. I mean, from a basic human decency point of view. It’s just not going to happen, and I better get over it.

For a while, I toyed with the idea that it was about money, or my lack thereof. While I could certainly get my way more often if I had more money, it’s obvious that even Donald Trump doesn’t get his way a shocking amount of the time. (Seriously. Have you ever seen a grown man who acts more like a toddler who has just been told that he may not have all the toys.) No money isn’t it at all.

It’s more like arrogance. (On second thought, maybe it is like Donald Trump.) I guess I have a basic assumption that I’m a smart person, and that I have good ideas. So, when I have a good idea (which is, let’s face it, at least a few times a day), I expect people (or at least myself) to jump. High. Now.


That’s not happening.

And it’s really not because my ideas are, contrary to my opinion, bad. It’s because of my other addiction: sloth. I am such a physical slacker. I could give you a thousand reasons why, but they would all be excuses. I mean, it’s so overcast.

Spinning plates… or just one full one?

Just one of those days...Who isn’t amazed by those lads and lasses who balance a number of plates, keeping them all spinning at the end of various lengths of pole. And who hasn’t felt like one of those fellows, when there’s a lot of tasks to be done, all seeming to be of equal importance so that prioritizing seems impossible? I’m right there, these days.Just one berry wide!

Or maybe it’s more like a smorgasbord. Like a church supper where there’s so many kinds of delectable desserts that it’s so hard to choose just one. Or even four. (Yes, I can see you smiling! You’ve done that. Loaded a plate full of postage stamp sized pieces of cake. Slivers of pie so thin the light shines through the filling like a fruit studded stained glass window. Tea Cup in IrelandServings of pudding so dainty they’d barely fill a Protestant communion cup! Yes. But I digress…)

My days are like that now. I’ve got so many possibilities that I really almost feel like just avoiding all of them. I’m almost to the point where I’m ready to plop down on the sofa, curl up with a good book and a cup of tea (from Teavana, passion du jour), and read the day away.

But I can’t. Well…maybe just for a little while…

Getting Settled

Well, it's not THIS bad...Did you ever have one of those moments when you were looking for something and you just knew it had to be right around here, somewhere?!

Well, it’s been seven days since we unpacked the truck. I am slowly (very slowly) getting unpacked. It’s not just unpacking though, it’s trying to mesh my things in with Paul’s. Trying to meld our lives, while we meld our things.

On top of that, we hardly ever see each other. First, I left for a couple days. Then, he left for a business trip. He comes back Tuesday afternoon, and then I leave Wednesday at noon again. Although I’ll be back Saturday, I’ll have Sophia in tow, as it’s the beginning of her Spring Break and she’s excited about coming to visit.

Around and About

Great food and atmosphere.Despite a brisk wind and a temp of 23° (-5° C), Paul, Lindsay and I walked the six and a half blocks to the excellent Milwaukee institution Beans and Barley this morning for lunch. Excellent Pesto Lasagna for me, Paul got one of their legendary It's a great store!burritos and Lindsay had the egg salad with sprouts. Excellent  fortification for braving the wintry walk back, though we did stop at Whole Foods for some staples, since I decided I wanted to make bread this afternoon, a decision that seems to always be seconded, no matter where I am.

Reversible Knitting by Lynn BarrOnce I put the bread in the bowl for the first rising, and knowing it would take at least two hours, given the temperature of his (soon-to-be our?) kitchen, Paul and I decided to walk to Boswell Book Company (yes, another half mile each way—we’re no wimps!) to check out the selection for some holiday gifts. They’re not late, because I don’t give gifts until Epiphany anyway.Kilvarock Kilt Hose

I was fortunate enough to receive (a big thank-you to Paul) a book I’d had my eye on for a while. Reversible Knitting by Lynn Barr. I wonder what I’ll make first. Well, the first thing to finish is the kilt hose I’m making for Paul. Such are the labors of love.

After the Storm

Not my front yard--but looks like the kitchen!

Image by Abu-Edrees via Flickr

I don’t think it matters whether you’ve had a hurricane, or just been depressed for a while, but after the storm is over, there’s a lot of picking up to do. Some of the debris is physical (dishes to wash, laundry to fold, clutter to be cleared), and some of it is mental (apologizing, making amends, trying to get people to trust you…). I’m not sure which is worse.

My regular depressive cycles are troublesome enough, since I have almost one week of despondency, and then a week of sheer coma-like inactivity. Every month! But when I have a particularly bad spell, like this most recent one, where I’m really bad when I’m “scheduled” to be good, it’s even worse.

It continues to amaze me how bad things can get when I’m depressed, and how incredibly difficult it is to make a lot of headway when I’m feeling better. After all, no matter how bad I’m feeling, I still manage to wear clothes and eat something, so the dishes and laundry just keep piling up, regardless of how I’m feeling. (Note to self: Investigate eating off paper plates in the nude!) And I don’t like to do dishes even when I’m feeling good, so you can imagine how bad it is. Frankly, I’m still wading through a slough of housework that’s months old. It really does make the phrase “two steps forward, one step back” come vividly to life, in 3-D (with Smell-O-Rama!) Except there are definitely some months where things are “two steps forward, two steps back,” and this month is more like “coming from a few steps back, will she ever make it forward?”

I’d just love a maid for two weeks a month! Any takers?

Housework is not easy at the best of times, but if I can make it through the next couple of weeks, I’ll be way ahead of the game.