“When you find your identity from the one who created you, it will change your whole perspective.”
Adapt, improvise, overcome
nestled in my hands & lap –
I was enjoying the movie Contagion until the “writers” bashed a few of their own with this line:
“Blogging is not writing. Blogging is graffiti with punctuation.”
– How do my fellow bloggers feel about that line?
Also, if you like this photo, you’ll enjoy others at the challenge entry by a blogger after my own heart, Dymoonblog. It includes a great photo (credit) comment by another fellow blogger, Superduque777?
Friday night but my disciplined husband keeps his weekly work routine and goes to bed by 9:00.
Past 9:30 but this cinema buff keeps her weekend desire to watch old movies past midnight.
Classic Hepburn was a given. Including Spencer Tracy and Sydney Poitier was like adding salt and pepper to a favorite dish.
Guess who’s coming to dinner was my 1967 choice. Looking back in time at this social issue was the comedy-drama I wanted.
15 minutes into the movie and I wonder why I hear my husband going out the back door? I figured he needed more wood to ensure the fire made it through the night. My mind stays focused on the screen and I pay more attention to the gallery and nice digs than I do to my own artful home. When I hear the stairs, I finally turn my head thinking Richie decided to join me.
But it’s not Richie!
Guess who’s coming to dinner was my 2018 reality. Gawking in surprise at my non-social butterfly baby girl was the comedy-drama I needed.
She had not flown in on United but I was thrilled to be reunited with her.
I didn’t have a Tillie to make us sandwiches and it was too cold to eat outside but I did whip us up some cheesy scrambled eggs to eat in the kitchen.
I never made it past the scene where the doctor meets the dad. On the interesting flip side, Tarah’s dad visits his doctor in the morning.
Our reunion tonight was comedic. I can’t wait to see what drama unfolds tomorrow…in both households.
Sunday morning of a long weekend and I had no plans or desires to be anywhere but home. I’d been to mass the night before, nobody else was up and we had exercise equipment in the basement. I had no excuses left and time to myself, so it was finally time to work out.
I carried my pug down the basement steps and set him on a pillow. He was both my emotional support and witness for my Rocky routine. I set my IPhone on the ping pong table and started my playlist:
Rocky theme – It was natural to grab the jumprope first and start skipping to the beat. I quickly counted the revolutions, knowing I could easily put in 100, but maintaining until the end of the song was the goal. The song reinforced that I was “trying hard now” and belted that my body would be “getting strong now”. The lyrics”won’t be long now” were also inspiring, even though I had a long road ahead of me.
I hung the rope on a nail and put on my Everlast boxing gloves.
Eye of the tiger – I went head-to-head with my punching bag knowing I was my biggest rival. This was physical and psychological exercise. After a minute or so, I made sure I had quickfire feet going too. We were face-to-face, the bag was hanging tough and I was staying hungry. My reward for this workout was going to be a hearty homemade Sunday breakfast.
When the thrill of the fight and the song ended, I noticed white spots at the top of the bag. Figuring it was the start of molding from non-use, I panted my way upstairs to get Lysol spray for the bag and to prevent an impending heart attack, a bottle of water for me.
I sipped water as I looked out the cellar window. The outside temperature has been moving around zero degrees for a week now and our wood stove has been a lifesaver. It was appropriate that I moved my workout to the ski machine:
Hearts on fire – it’s been a few months since I used the cross country setup but the rhythm came back quickly. Exercise that involves arms and legs all at once are the most fun for me. “Time would not stand still” for me now. I was focused until I realized my heart really was on fire.
Starting was the hard part but now I was enjoying myself. Maintaining is going to be the challenge to get my body back in shape, in fact there’s:
No easy way out – I listened to this track as I worked with my free weights.
I saved my least favorite, abs, for last. I climbed on the ab machine and after 25 pulls, wondered who the hell named it a “glider”? I did as many as I could and then cooled down to Coach’s ‘motivization’ speech.
It was the perfect cool down. Next time I work out and it starts to burn, I am going to hear Mickey say, “I didn’t hear no bell!”
I am powerful beyond measure.
I need to believe it – on Sundays and every other day.
No more excuses – as my pug is my witness.
I have come out of the basement.
Not that it’s difficult in 20 degree New England weather when you’re all bundled up but is it still considered date night if you smuggled in candy?
I still have my ax.
The wizard gave me a heart.
But what are these jugs?.
Haiku Challenge: A unique twist to one of your favorite fictional characters
Photo credit: Pinterest
Stephen King’s stories are set in New England. He lives securely in Bangor, Maine behind a ghoulish spidery cast iron gate. We reside in the daddy-long-legs open woods of Massachusetts. Unfortunately, last night I was also fenced in. I sat at the very center of a packed movie house for the release of IT.
To say my husband is a Stephen King fan is a huge understatement. Richie has been a member of his book club for over 30 years and the volumes are meticulously maintained in Richie’s ‘King cave’. Richie also archives the related DVD’s in our living room. When winter comes and the roads are closed off, he exercies his sense of humor by rewatching The Shining. Richie’s movies, bookshelves and chef knives, must remain untouched, like the penguin in Misery. Our long-loved family pets are even buried on the hilltop behind our house; their tiny headstones include chiseled names and the spot is referred to as Pet Sematary.
I share this background to make a point about our theatre seat selection. It wasn’t to see Jack and Wendy, or Annie and Paul or Louis and Rachel. Poor Danny. Poor Sheriff Richard. Poor Gage. We sped down the the highway to be the first to arrive at our 7:00 viewing. We ensured we were first to walk-in and selected the middle chairs, in the center row, to watch a psychotic clown. Poor Georgie. Poor me.
The theatre filled in around us while we focused on trivia and popcorn. The noise quieted to hushed tones and candy wrappings when the previews started. Just after the first scene, the woman behind me sneezed twice, without a hankie. It was the one night I decided to put my long hair in a bun. The film was both in front of me and on my neck.
I mentally tried to brush it off. Physically, without a napkin or tissue, I couldn’t wipe it away. Psychologically, knowing Pennywise would get me if I tried to walk out alone, I didn’t dare move.
Beverly’s terrifying bathroom scene brought an exploding sink at the exact moment two more rounds of nasal fluid hit my bare neck. Surround sound has nothing on spray-a-vision. I could have shit my pants and taken a shower in that red bathroom.
My combination of fear and anger set off dopamine in my brain and I finally thought enough to slink down in my chair.
At this point, I was as contorted as Pennywise coming out of the closet.
I couldn’t leave. It was Stephen King. I didn’t want to complain. Richie had been waiting months to see this movie. I stayed and became my own horror show.
I went through the roof when fake Georgie transformed at the well. When Pennywise showed his teeth, sneezes five and six flew across the top of my head. The insides, and outside, of my body was completely terrorized.
Pennywise killing in the sewer system was fictional horror at its best but still didn’t compare to the terrorizing moisture I tolerated as a human tissue. The Maine events were set due North but I know my health is going South.