I Have No Master Plan

When I was younger, I had to have a plan of some kind with which to steer my life.  I was constantly asking myself deep questions about the future and how I wanted to guide the family. 

Now I am ready to break free and just do.  But it is scary.  There are no yardsticks to measure myself by, no obstacles like college to navigate and save for.  We are all footloose...except for my best friend who is raising her grandson as her own.  Maybe she is the happiest-she KNOWS  exactly what to do and how to do it.  The rest of us just have to sink or swim as well as we can.

I am reading an excellent book on aging-it professes to teach us that we need to venture beyond the familiar in order to locate the next version of ourselves.  It takes courage and moral strength. 

Isn't it damnable that life has no instruction booklet?  What's up with that?  It would be infinitely  more enjoyable and pleasant if we only knew what the next step was going to be.  My stomach growls and pitches whenever I have a choice to make-that seems to be most of the time.  I am slowing down, I need to be more aware, foolish mistakes are in the past and can't be rectified, the future is a big Question Mark so all we really have is today.  I think we all have to be ready to accept the consequences of our actions, either good or bad.

Somewhere in the mix, we have to expect greater and live with fearlessness and courage, to choose and nurture our relationships, and  out of this to be consistent; isn't  that an oxymoron?    And this particular slide toward death is optional but what else is there to do?

Just Walking at the Canal

Saturday mornings will never be the same
I used to rush around getting ready for soccer games and swim meets or cross country runs,
Now it is just me and my husband

I cherish these times just like I used to cherish the busyness of two rambunctious kids
More time for reflection
And enjoying the people we have become

Getting older does that
I used to think that wrinkles and gray hair were to be avoided
Now I like it-even feel like I have earned it.

Now my husband and I groan out of bed
Pulling our walking/running clothes on
I look forward to the sun rising over the water and the
Birds flitting and turtles inhaling the warmth of a well placed rock.


The Savannah River is such a mirror of life.  It has it all-busyness, constant movement, and yet, if you stroll and don't run
You see all the goodies of nature

The Life and Times of Rin Tin Tin

My brother sent me this when I turned fifty.  Needless to say, I have laughed out loud several times.  Those were the days before mortgages and raising kids...


Some of my earliest memories of Sharon are very painful for me.  The reason being that I usually ended up with my butt beat for either something she had done or somebody else had done and Sharon blamed on me.  Sharon blamed me for the Bay of Pigs Invasion.  I didn't know that pigs could swim.  If she had been in the Mafia, her life would have been very short.  The earliest incident of pain that I can remember is a car climbing mishap.  There was a new car that seemed to us like the perfect Mt. Everest.  So what do two enterprising young climbers do?  We climbed on top of it.  From back to front, front to back, side to side, we called this mountain climbed.  Unfortunately, the guy who owned the car was unimpressed with the bravado of our happy little feet.  Results were poor for Billy on this little adventure.  Little Billy got his butt beat while Sharon probably got taken out for ice cream. 

There seemed to be little I could get away with.  From smoking grapevines to looking at girlie magazines, Sharon, "The Bull" Gravano was there to make sure I was living a Godly life; running as fast as she could to Mom or Dad to squeal my latest transgressions.  Nothing went unnoticed; nothing went untold.  My Guardian Angel didn't know half the things my little sister knew.  But I survived; though Dad always liked her best. 

One of the funniest incidents involving Sharon was a phone conversation my mother was having with someone and they needed Sharon's entire name.  The person on the other end was having trouble understanding Sharon's middle name-Denise.  Finally my exasperated mother, in the best of military tradition, said "D" like dog.  Since then she has been known as Sharon Dog.  I'm so glad I remembered that. 

This has been a short foray into the life and times of Sharon Dog.  There are many incidents, too numerous to mention.  So I will bid a fond adieu to Rin Tin Tin and wish her the best of being half a century old.