Fighting the Frumpies

I’ve had enough of the doldrums. Enough of the frumpies. In the past three years (which is how long the caregiving for my mom has successfully eroded those parts of my life that were carefree and convivial) I’ve gone from Funky Grammy to Frumpy Grammy. (My much loved toddler grandson calls me “Grammy.”)
In a couple of weeks I’ll hit my 65th birthday, and so I’ve been taking some photos of myself for my annual birthday post. FRUMPY!!
So I’ve made an appointment to get my hair styled at a new salon by one of its “artists.” As my hair goes, so seem to go I. It’s worth a try.
A brisk walk around the park on this cold but sunny Sunday was also worth a try. I breathed. Cold, clean, fresh air — just the opposite of what fills this building full of old people who always seem to be cold and so crank up the heat. I don’t have to turn my own heat on all winter; I’m surrounded by apartment-sized hot-boxes.
I’ve decided that there’s some cause and effect relationship between “cluttered” and “frumpy.” My apartment is too cluttered, too full of stuff. Stuffy. Today, I started TRYING to unclutter so that I can unfrump. I’m trying. I’m trying. But it’s sooo hard to get rid of books; English majors can’t seem to part with their beloved books.
And for me, add to my book obsession, hair and shoes. And then, of course, there’s blogging. I’m overwhelmed by my obsessional possessions.
It helps with frumpies and doldrums and obsessions to have something to laugh about. Or at least to smile about. So I checked over at Dick Jones’ Patteran Pages, where I remember seeing his post of 2/23 that listed questions that no one seems to be able to answer, like:
— Light travels faster than sound: Is that why some people appear bright until you hear them speak?
— Whose cruel idea was it for the word “lisp” to have an “s” in it?
— Why do you press harder on a remote control when you know the battery is dead?
— Why are they called buildings, when they’re already finished? Shouldn’t they be called builts?
— Why do people without a watch look at their wrist when you ask them what time it is?
— Why is the alphabet in that order?
— What would a chair look like if your knees bent the other way?
— Why do scientists call it research when looking for something new?
— Tell a man that there are 400 billion stars and he’ll believe you. Tell him a bench has wet paint and he has to touch it.
— How come Superman could stop bullets with his chest, but always ducked when someone threw a gun at him?
— Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the bottle?
— Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard?
— Isn’t Disney World a people trap operated by a mouse?
Those are the ones I like the best, but he’s got more listed on his blog.
He also has a wonderful poem called “Seeds” that helped a little more to move me out of my Winter Doldrums.
Check out Dick’s blog. It’s a gem.

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