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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Random Bits, Brain Fog and Head Colds

Is it just me? When I have a head full of cold and sinus and a weekend full of children's activities I have zero creativity. Nada. Nuthin.

Granted the weekend activities were things such as wrestling kids in and out of car seats and costumes. And with a head full of unmentionables that alone is a challenging task. But it was Halloween weekend with a party, a trunk or treat and the main event. 

And I did finish three articles that were due for the Out of the Frying Pan book tour. And study for and teach a Sunday School class. And varnish cabinet doors. And create and make a recipe for The Book Fun Magazine column I write. 

Monday night after the trick or treating this grandma crawled into bed slathered in oregano oil and slept like a mummy. 

And last night I unapologetically watched television and cleaned hedgehog cages and snuggled with pups who've been feeling neglected. Oh, and I got my oil changed since I was about 2k over the recommended oil change sticker that has been inducing guilt for a few months. The receipt says I received a "pretty girl" discount. Holy moly wonder how many times a feminist has jumped over the counter and punched the cashier/mechanic right in the man bits when that discount appears on her receipt. I'm guessing angry feminists only get the "pretty girl" discount once. 

Also, an adult without a child, wending it's way through the child packed trick or treat streets, wearing a creepy costume. At least it wasn't a crazed killer clown, simply possibly the oarsman who silently rows people down the River Styx. Fun times. Fun times.