Enigma #785

Photo Courtesy of www.redcanyonart.com

Sat in the yard this morning, reading. The book is talking to my spirit and soul. To understand the message, the book needs to be closed occasionally to think about the ideas introduced in her words.

My hands are not often idle. When not holding the book, they immediately start pushing back the cuticles of my finger nails...a very old habit started when I was 14 or 15 years old.

I looked down as my right thumb pushed at the nail bed of the pinky finger on my left hand. The bright sun was laser-bright on my left hand.

There, plain-as-day, half an inch from the last knuckle of the pinky; 1/8 " long, 1/16" wide, my very first "age spot"! My mouth flew open in surprise, pride, dismay; the whole gamut of emotions.


For as long as I can remember, people have told me that I have "pretty hands". When I was young, people always commented on the length of my fingers or the strength of my hands. I had a more than impressive reach on the piano keys. A man I dated told me I had fingers that "go from here to there!"

The strength in my fingers is impressive. When I massage someone's back or hands or feet, I  often catch them with eyes rolled back and just a bit of drool in the corner of their mouth.

Great-grandma's hands were powerful yet unquestionably tiny. She was 4'11" but a personality that was veritably giant. Her tiny hands mirrored knarled roots of an old pinion pine tree, announcing to the world, "I have lived life to the fullest!" I loved her hands and dreamed of possessing such hands when I was in my 80's and 90's.

What does this tiny brown spot mean to me?

The synchronicity of this discovery just days after Photoshopping pictures of my mom and dad is incredible. As I tweaked contrast and light levels in a five generations photo, I caught myself staring at my mother's hands. Her skin is ivory, soft, blemish free, almost transparent. Her nails are perfect ovals, all exactly the same shape and length. The blue contrast of the her veins, so very apparent.  Mom is truly the Scarlett O'Hara of the west; the sun was her enemy!  Her face, hands and, especially, decolletage were sacred space, to be protected at all times! Gloves and wide brimmed hat were mandatory when working in the yard, garden and even the beach.

I didn't inherit that tendency. Shea butter, baby oil or nothing! I lifted my face to the sun and sang, "make me brown!"  All those beautiful tans, swimming in the surf, the lakes and the pool without a care about SPF-anything!

The enigma is, I really don't know how I feel about this change in my hand. The fingers are still long, my grip is still strong but something is different.  Has the skin on the back of my hand betrayed me? Is this the beginning of the end? There is one little bit of my mind called Ego, that is screaming, "Call a dermatologist! Get this burned off!"

But, even as I type this, my eyes wander down to that little spot. Surprisingly, I think I love it!

Do you remember being 12 or 13? One day, out of the blue, menarche bursts out of nowhere. That tiny bit of blood is a banner that silently announces, WELCOME; YOUR WORLD HAS JUST CHANGED! ! You had just crossed the threshold from child to woman.

I am standing at another threshold.

It is right here; I can feel it. This freckle-that's-not-a-freckle is my ticket to the new kingdom.  I believe I am going to embrace the next phase of my life. Act III is here.  This wee bit of brown spot is inspiring me to immerse myself (and the crew) in life, in awareness, in full consciousness.

Most honorable Hecate, here I am! Ready, Willing and Able!

Blue Cupcakes, cont.

Four of my granddaughters and my niece baked and frosted cupcakes a couple of nights ago while the rest the house slept. There were many cupcakes and various sizes; large, medium and mini. All the cupcakes were topped in blue frosting.

My sister and I took our coffee out to the pool. The midnight bakers were sprawled about the leaving room floor and couches, apparently resting up from cracking eggs and mixing dough. Sis and I sat at the edge of the pool, our legs dangling in the inviting water. Within minutes we accepted the invitation!  An early morning swim was in order!

Never let anyone tell you that sleeping teens cannot hear conversations through dreams and exterior walls. By the time my sister returned in her swimming suit from the guest room, the pool was full of swimming, laughing, splashing girls. We all joined in.

After 20 minutes, I heard the kitchen window slowly sliding shut. I did a quick head count. All present and accounted for.

"Someone is in the house!"

All heads turned to the window. The morning reflection made it impossible to see who had invaded the cupcake kingdom!

"What if the intruder eats all the cupcakes?" our youngest granddaughter is 9. She worries about such things.

"It's okay!" Yelled one of the girls over the splashing, "We'll be able to tell who ate them!" She stuck out her tongue. It was bright blue.

All the other tongues popped out of mouths, all sporting the same royal blue!

"We'll just stop people walking down the street and  ask them to say, "ah!"

We continued to swim as my sister  painted the image of the police line-up in our minds. "I can see it now!" she describes the scene. "The room is dark. Five suspects are lined up in the bright viewing box. An officer leans forward and speaks into the microphone, "Will suspect #1 please step forward and stick out your tongue!""


p.s. Appears our intruder was only Papa. He popped home to pick up a couple of CD's he needed for work.  Papa's co-workers teased him about the color of his tongue all day!

What happens at Nana's,  doesn't necessarily stay at Nana's!

Procrastinate

I love words. Love, love, love words. I love their roots, their meanings, derivatives of words and mostly their potential for creating images filled with emotion.

Today, I accomplished a job that I have been putting off for 2 weeks.  I procrastinated! I am a procrastinator...in fact, I am a PROcrastinator.

Yeah, there is a little shame involved but, let's be honest! I am an accomplished procrastinator. You wouldn't believe how many extraordinary things I have churned out in a frenzied last minute.

Does that make me the Consummate PROcrastinator? Should I make a sweatshirt announcing my propensity for last minute pushes! Will anyone believe it is not laziness but pure anxiety that the final product won't be perfection?

Flipping the pages of my etymology dictionary to the P's, we find that 'procrastinate' was introduced to polite society circa 1540 from the French root "procrastine".  History tells us that around  1580 the speakers of latin begin using "procrastinatus" which is an active present tense verb of defering, delaying.  Evolving into the past participle "Procrastinare" meaning one has already  "deferred, delayed, put off till tomorrow."

It is amusing that procrastinatus is defined as an active verb of defering and delaying, almost as if the procrastinator is a goalie in a soccer game defending the goal of being reached rather than sitting in the garden, peeling grapes while reading about Jason and the Argonauts latest adventure!

If man has been on earth for thousands of years, was there a sudden surge of laziness in the 1500's?  Was the human race sufficiently efficient until the Little Ice Age of the Middle Ages? Did the cold inspire Middles Agers to sit by the fire instead of harvest, or plant or bake the bread?

The noun defining "one who defers, delays and puts off," is (momentary hesitation to build suspense) Procrastinator! That word did not rise until 1600. Sixty years from verb to noun! Now that is some heavy duty delaying and deferring!

My little exercise of deferring the project at hand for two weeks is nothing in comparison!

(Hanging my head in shame!) Damn, I am not the Consummate Procrastinator.

I can only repeat the wise words of Horace, "Vitanda est improba siren desidia!" One must avoid that wicked temptress, Laziness!

Our friend, Horace, might have had some impulse control issues, for another saying he is famous for is "Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero" more or less directly translated means "Seize the day, putting little or no trust in tomorrow!" My personal take on that is "Drink your wine today because there might not be a tomorrow!"



 Carpe Diem is my anthem! I may at any time be deferring the completion of a project but it doesn't mean that I am sitting in a dark corner sucking on my thumb. I am dancing! I am swimming. I am seizing the day and living like I mean it.

As for the delayed projects; they are brewing in the Nec Temere, Nec Timide file. "Not rashly, not  timidly!" If it's good enough for the Royal Danish Naval Academy, it is good enough for me!