It’s so difficult to write this as I am having trouble containing my excitement….Beyoncé (she is so famous, that her name is in this program’s dictionary) is having twins….wow! Seriously?……this is the important news of today? Look, I’m no expert, and I must not use this little platform of a blog to shove my personal opinions down each of your throats, but I really am gagging………
Here we are, an old year behind us, one that seemed to whiz past like a high-speed train. And my, what a year…..I could rant about all the political unrest, a really strange election, awful wars across the world, hate radiating between people in this country, and a wobbly feeling in the pits of our bellies at what the future might bring…. but I won’t.
Sometimes, I really don’t know how my Gump does it. He works more than anyone I have ever known. In the past ninety-six hours, he has worked sixty of them. I have kept the same hours as him, and even gone and hung out with him at his office (with my stash of reading material and chocolate) and I’m exhausted just spending all that time relaxing. He must be absolutely cream-crackered – which means knackered – which means so tired you will probably die. So there it is, a small and rare tribute to the hard-working Gumpster, and the introduction of a British word to my non-Brit readers.
I hate getting older. And it’s not just because of the wrinkles on my face either. I’ve actually become quite fond of the two creases either side of my mouth that run down towards my chin. The ‘laughter’ lines around my eyes and the rumpled skin on my forehead are okay as well. At least they give my face strong character and hint at the hard, grueling, not-to-mention ‘full’ life I have led thus far.
One of the lovely gifts that going through menopause has brought to my life is the new ability to sweat. Not glisten, not perspire, just plain old good honest sweat. The kind that makes you feel as though you could cook a fried egg on your more than adequate belly and heat up a pizza under your left boob. I can remember playing an entire racquetball game years ago and feeling a bit ‘damp’ around the collar, I used to actually COMPLAIN that I wished I could sweat….
Today is a poignant day in my life. It marks the second year of the day my mother died. It’s hard to be funny today, something almost disrespectful in trying to be amusing.
I know many of you have lost your mothers, or your fathers, or both. Some of you may have even lost them when you were young. I know I am fortunate in that I had my mother until I was 54 years old.