Weird week. It started snowing on Monday, which just depressed everyone. I think we were prepared for the white stuff in April and March, but waking up to a blizzard (and it was a wicked snowstorm. Whiteout conditions and everything) was just beyond sad. (Terribly sad. A father and his kids died in the storm.).

I’ve felt out of sorts all week. Partly because everything had melted and I thought we were past the point of having to kennel the dogs because of muddy paws, and partly because grey, flat light doesn’t appeal to me.

I thought Monday was wretched, but it’s Thursday and Edmontonians are still out of their element. No one seems particularly happy or joyful. I’ve been wrestling with this edgy energy and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to work on my manuscript or take a day off.

I tried taking the day off…that lasted five minutes because I’m not in the mood to read, watch t.v., or slack off. So, got myself a snack–a peach–and believe it or not, I feel way better. Not nearly so out of sorts.

Peaches really are happy fruits, aren’t they?

I took the past two days off–finished edits for what feels like the millionth time, and just wanted a break. So, T and I were watching movies and we put on My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding, and I mentioned to my kid that I really loved mu-mus and I wish I had one.
And she gives me this look, and says, “No way. You are NOT buying or wearing anything like that.”
So, I tried to explain that they’re super comfortable and…comfortable.
And she says, “Do you know why you can’t find them? Because they’re ugly and no one wants them.”
So, I tried to sell her on them by saying they’re like the old version of the snuggy…apparently, I’m not allowed to buy one of those, either…something about coming into my room, taking the items, burning them, and my no longer being allowed to shop for myself…

So, I know television tries to tempt women with visions of young, hunky men, all buffed and ripped, and hey, I’m not going to argue. There’s a time and place for yummy eye candy. But my super weakness has always been the way older man with a sparkle in his eye. You know the kind I mean. He’s in his 70s or older, but there’s a charm and joy about him, and you just can’t resist. Same with the female counterpart–I’m totally girl crushing when I meet older women like that.

I tease my husband all the time about keeping me away from senior’s centers–I think there’s just something about someone (man or woman)who’s way older, but has managed to keep their sense of humor and happiness about them.

I think it’s easy to be joyful when you’re young. But as you get older and life starts to disappoint, how much joy and peace can you hold to? That’s why I’m always impressed with the senior set. Sure, a super hot young guy or girl can catch my eye, but man, give me a senior who’s comfortable in themselves and their lives, and they’ve got me turning my head in their direction.

So, case in point. S and I are walking the dogs at Laurier and we come across a gentleman with an older lab-mix. Now, the guy (I’ll call him Bill) has got a wicked Irish brogue, and as soon as he starts talking, I’m basically “Oh, you had me at hello.” Anyway, we’re chatting about his dog, and the like, and he goes on to say this:

“I had a friend over the other day and he was admiring Oliver and saying what a beautiful dog he is. Then Oliver flopped down and started cleaning himself. He rolled over and started to lick his penis. And my friend watches for a moment, then says, “Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.” And I said to my friend, “Well, you can try, but don’t get mad at me if he bites you.”

Frackin’ AWESOME punch line, hey? Totally not what I expected him to say. I started laughing, S starts laughing, and we chat a bit more then go on our way. And I said to my husband, “Man. If he asked me out, you would have had a run for your money.”
And S says, “Hell, if he’d asked ME out, you’d be cooking your own dinner!”

I guess the love affair with the senior set runs in the family.

Been out east the past few days, visiting. It was supposed to be a vacation, but turned into a working vacation (writers will know what I mean. When you have an idea, you need to write it down before you forget/lose momentum.). The visit was fun, but I’m coming to really realize, I’m sssooo NOT a traveller.

For your consideration, I submit the following:

1. Despite years and years of practice going through security, I still set off the alarm, every time.
2. No matter how hard I try to look harmless, I’m always chosen for the “random search.” (quotes around it, because after all this time, not feeling so random to me). And to further this point, on the flight back home, I was tagged for TWO searches: the “we’re going to take everything out of your bag” search and the “we need to swab your hands” search…thank God I didn’t get the “we want to go splunking in your various body parts” search.
3. On the flight, there AND back (how shameful is that!), I managed to elbow my seat mate, every time I moved. Occasionally (if I timed it just right), I ended up elbowing him every time he moved.
4. During taxi, I sent my lip gloss flying through the air and rolling down the aisle toward oblivion (my new lip gloss, the one I’d just discovered and loved).
5. On the straight walk down the aisle to the bathroom, I manged to hit almost every seat I passed by.
6. Inadvertently ended up sitting on a guy’s arm (I was standing & leaning back, trying to let someone past me in the aisle.).

I don’t know, I just don’t think I’m flying material. Despite the fact that everyone’s super good-natured about my moose-like tendencies, I always seem to feel like the country bumpkin, who’s stepping on to a plane for the first time…