About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Saturday, May 03, 2014

Comma chameleon. And bag ladies.

I love puns. (You may have noticed.) The goofier the better. There was a meme on FB day before yesterday: five bright green punctuation marks followed by a lizard. Flashback to the 80's. I got an earworm. Tan apparently got a headache, for which I am sorry, and I hope that this reference doesn't fire up another one.

In other silliness, two of my work friends who are far more chic than I, noticed my bag at lunch yesterday. They both laughed at my "that's not a bag, that's a car payment" response. It probably doesn't qualify as the world's most expensive knitting bag. The problem (for me) in carrying a designer bag is that for forty years I have read about the Nephites and their intermittent love of fine clothing.

I do love pretty clothing. Always have. Used to make all my own, with designer touches, until it made sense to buy it because I no longer had the time to do it properly, and my shape had changed so much that the patterns required significant alterations. There is very little outstanding clothing made for women my size.

Where was I?

The older I get, the simpler my needs are becoming. I have enough stuff (mostly). I need a small amount of stuff to lug around the stuff I use on a daily basis. I need stuff to cover my nakedness. I need stuff to feed mind, body, and spirit.

The paycheck/bonus is nearly all spent. I paid bills. I went to dinner. I ordered two prints, one for the dining room and one for Firstborn's birthday. I paid for the trainfare portion of my upcoming vacation. There were way more wants than there were needs. I'm fine with that. I know the difference. I have enough left for food and gas and the next massage.

I think it's funny and sad that we compare ourselves to one another. Especially for something as silly as a few square feet of dead animal skin. Providence and a modicum of self discipline have improved my finances to the point that I probably don't need to worry about becoming a bag lady. I hope I never confuse my value as a child of God with my value by worldly measure.

I hope I never become a Bag lady.

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