If you’ve noticed I haven’t been as active in the Cow Pasture the last few weeks and the only excuse I can give you is, it’s been one heck of a month.
October arrived and my muse took a hike. Halloween brought enough candy to put my whole street in a sugar coma. And, right before I spent three straight days cooking a Thanksgiving meal, for twenty plus people, I broke my toe.
I gotta tell you, lugging around a big black orthopedic boot is a pain (no pun intended). It’ll throw your hip outta whack in a skinny minute! Not to mention screw with your holiday attire. There’s just no way to look sexy wearing a one-legged, open-toed, platform, orthopedic, boot.
This time of year brings no rest for the wicked, infirmed, or plain ole’ tired and writing always takes a hit. Whoever decided to have #NaNoWriMo during the month of November, is as crazy as the people camping out for 12 hours, in the cold, at Toys r’ Us on Black Thursday. I mean, really?
For the record, I didn’t take part in the Black Thursday-Friday madness. Limping around in an orthopedic boot in a mass of crazed shoppers was as appealing as water torture.
Something’s gotta be wrong with people leaving a table spread with goodies to join a bunch of crazy shoppers. What’s wrong with staying home, lingering at the table (with a glass of wine or two) and engaging in conversation with each other? There’s a novel thought.
Of course, I’ll admit it’s easy for me to say this year; I’m ahead of the curve. Every last Christmas present is purchased and ready to go under the tree. Ebates and Amazon are my new best friends. As they say, every cloud has a silver lining. In this case, a broken toe leads to online shopping. I may never step foot into a store, again. But, seriously can’t we slow down this speeding train of time and just talk? The world might be a better place if we did.
But, who am I kidding? The art of conversation has gone out the window with bell bottom jeans and hippy hair. Talking? What’s that?
Speaking of which, I sent my daughter a lovely message the other night (yeah, via text). Conversing is too taxing for her. The holidays sometimes put me in a reflective mood. So, I sent her a note expressing my love and pride for all she’s accomplished.
Her response? “Is this a suicide text? Well, it’s rude to send a suicide letter via text. Handwritten is preferred.”
The world has gone crazy, indeed.
Perhaps, the best I can do this year is to be thankful for the little things in life – a good laugh, orthopedic boots, and my iPhone.