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 |  My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| PROMPT March 22nd Write about your earliest memory. Try to describe it in as much detail as possible. Memory is fluid. It ebbs and flows. It shimmers and shape-shifts. Sometimes it's murky. Sometimes it floats to the surface unbidden and then it meanders in slow-moving circles. Memory may be a nagging snippet of loose thread pulled from a snagged sleeve. Has a hole been formed? How? Where is that sleeve? When did this happen? Why this thread, this sleeve? Some memories burst forth as blinding flashbacks, all kinetic energy and echoing noise. Burned gunpowder assaults the nose. I squint in the brightness. Sunlight dances and glimmers all around me as I try to touch it. Something tickles my chin. Warmth caresses my cheeks, and my hair is tugged and tousled. I am seated and struggling to maintain my balance. A force nudges me, pushes me, rocks me. I kick my bare feet and a grittiness scrubs my toes. With some effort, I reach down to squish this new roughish texture between my fingers. Raising my bare arm water droplets plink down onto my upturned forehead and I blink as they trickle from my eyelashes and down my cheek. I strike the cool water churning it into mini waves. I am splattered by wet splashes, plonks, splats, ker-plunks. There, my earliest memory is of me becoming and enjoying being a water baby. I've never feared or disliked water. |
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