hurry up . . .

Kidlet yelled from her room the other night that I best be updating my blog.  Oh, yeah?

My head has been all over the place lately and none of the stops seem to be on the reality train.

Last night, Kidlet and I went to Cracker Barrel for dinner, not so much because we love the place but because we had a gift card and I was in an, I don't want to cook mood.  So while I noshed down a bowl of Mac n' Cheese, Kidlet scarfed down scrambled eggs, bacon and two huge pancakes topped with baked apples and whipped cream . . . to be fair, some of which is residing in our fridge.  So while she was finishing slurping up, I was checking out all of the other diners, and discovered that while Kidlet was definitely on the young end of the scale there, surprisingly, so was I.  We were in the middle of the 80's and up crowd, who were enjoying the comfort food doused menu.  As I watched one gentleman take his time rising to his feet at the end of his meal, I flashed back to my father's last years . . . the unsteadiness, the inability to do what comes so naturally when one is younger, the faltering steps and shaky hands.  My heart went out to this lovely soul who was enjoying his dinner with his pals.  But it struck a cord that I could not shake.  Having outlived my mother by some twenty years, would I find myself at 86 a carbon of my dad.  Would I be that wonderfully wobbly woman enjoying the companionship of friends at a dinner out.  Would I realize how truly frail I was?  Would it matter?
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And then we headed to the mall.  I had promised Kidlet a pair of Flash sneakers.

Unfortunately, they were not to be found.  Not in any of the 15 stores that sell shoes and as it turns out, not even on line . . . they are that popular.

All this talk of shoes sent me barreling to Dillard's for a fix.  In a couple of days, my doorbell will ring and I be the proud owner of some really comfy if not stylish Josef Seibel sandals.  A far cry from dragging Kidlet away from a pair of black Betsy Johnson heels with ruffles all the way down the stiletto.  Let's just say we agree to differ when it comes to foot wear . . . although I wouldn't complain if handed a pair of Flashes. 
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Monday, Kidlet and I spent the day together 'crafting'.  While she crocheted, I sewed a dress from a pattern I scored on EBay.  I had had the same pattern in 1969 albeit several sizes smaller and made a couple versions of it.  It's an easy pattern and was finished in a matter of hours.  The results however were evident.  While it was cute as it could be, it belonged on someone considerably less than 60.  I will still wear it around the house because it makes me happy.  Lesson learned?  Probably not.
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For a couple of weeks now, I have been spying a little black furry teenager with a very extended belly wandering in and out of the woods behind the pool.  If you'll remember, last time this happened, Snoopy moved in for the next twelve years . . . Snoopy being one of the impending offspring.  The cave is quite stable and content with three beasties and I am not wanting to upset the applecart but truly this poor thing needs help.   I contacted a friend who actually knows someone who lost a kit fitting the general description and I am hoping she will have a home soon.  If not, my friend said she would help.  But for more than a few moments, I was dreaming of turning the pool deck into a sanctuary for this unwed mother.  I must have been ruminating out loud because Joanie, who volunteers oodles of hours at the Humane Society, looked me in the eye and calmly asked if I had taken a lighten bolt to the head. 
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And so while little old men remind me of my life ahead, and a hug from my favorite shoe salesman who loved the 9TS leaves me teary eyed in the present and a hippie dress reminds me of times gone by and a pregnant teen rattles my heart, I feel unsettled these days.  Off balance.  Neither here nor there.  This too shall pass but I wish it would hurry up.