Daily Prompt: Connect the Dots (To the Moon)

Gravity

Gravity (Photo credit: eat more toast)

Today’s Daily Prompt was just too enticing to pass it by. Open your nearest book to page 82. Take the third full sentence on the page, and work it into a post somehow.

Well the first book I grabbed was a notebook so with a little extra lean in the opposite direction I picked up my latest read.  Once I saw it I was tempted to go for another but figured that wasn’t fair.  After all what is the poiont of a game if you don’t follow the rules?

Many years ago I fell into the ‘buzz’ trap getting all caught up with my friends when Weight Watcherswas a relatively new program.  Oh my we counted our proteins, fats, and breads, adhered to three fish meals a week, and made sure we ticked off every wee box for water, milk and fluids.  Our social get togethers amongst the women folk were all about what and how we achieved and discussions ensued on the validity of the program (after all it was over seen by physicians) and how well we were doing.

Weight Watchers company logo

Weight Watchers company logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Now belonging to  an active weight loss club is a lot like being addicted to, say, gambling.  When the scales are not in sight the conversations can be all about your success – how much you lost (or gained when it comes to gambling),-  with little discussion about your set backs or losses.

‘Why you know I lost 25 but must confess I gained a bit back but then I lost it again and I feel wonderful!’

Meanwhile you think to yourself, Honey, I saw you when you joined months ago and the only difference I can see is your hairstyle.

*Actually the program works fine as does any weight loss program **if you follow the plan.

But this post is not about losing or gaining, about succeeding or failing.   It’s about perception and the why of things.  By the way I did all right on the program then and each of the ten times I joined in the following decades.  Matter of fact I will never again even see my initial joining weight (which I thought was soooo huge) but now lies 25 pounds ago quite happily.  This is because I choose to believe the medical data that says an elderly person (well as close to elderly as damn is to swearing) should not be stick thin.  It’s healthy to carry a little weight.  I would also like to say it is all behind me  now (get it? get it?) but that would be way too much of a stretch because in fact it is all in front. haha

But now I realize I can believe pretty much anything I choose..so my hypothesis is that food intake has nothing to do with a generous middle.  It all has to do  with Gravity and the moon, tides and oceans, and because we are 90% water – salt water that is- well we reflect mother earth which lends credence to “‘This is the main reason for the tidal bulge on the opposite side of the Earth to the Moon.” *Gravity by Brian Clegg page 82 third full sentence.

It is quite humorous decades later to laugh or chuckle at our youthful worries and thoughts.  It is also quite satisfying to find joy in the me of now and quite like how I am.  What a difference a little age and wisdom makes.

First Failed Flush of Love – Actually

Ah First Love

First Failed Flush of Love Actually
 
These slightly overcast hot humid July mornings sometimes serve up, in addition to a light sprinkling of temporary rain, a particular memory from a land far away, a time long ago. Actually a time long ago not so much on the land faraway, except it does seem in my mind to have been a million miles away. A land distanced by time I guess.
 
We were going on vacation to a cottage probably somewhere in the Haliburton or Muskoka region of Ontario where lakes meet forest meet city dudes for a limited week or two each year. It had to have been the late fifties, a time before, air conditioning, seat belts, road service and car radios that could receive signals outside a city limits.
 
Cars broke down all the time, or at least threatened to, but were easily fixed with a patch, hot air, or a good smack along it’s frame. I remember one trip where the engine kept overheating and the only solution was to drive with the heat blowing on max on the hottest day of the year.
 
There were seven of us that year, two parents and five kids and I cannot remember what kind of car it was but it easily accommodated four or five wee bodies. I’m thinking we were between twelve and six years old. I was the oldest and considered myself a diva of sorts without knowing that word existed, and for sure possessed that false prepubescent sophistication where really, nothing associated with family was good enough for this princess and Mom and Dad became Mother and Father and really, what kind of car we drove and where we went was below my level of interest..sigh.
 
I don’t remember much about the cottage except it must have had walls, enough bedrooms and probably and indoor loo as that is one memory that would have caught my royal attention.
 
One day on the beach, no, not white sand, probably a stony beach with large rocks lining the shore, I found myself talking to a boy. There was none of the discomfort or awkwardness that preteens often start to feel, just nice pleasant conversation. It turned out that he lived very close to my house and knew my brother. Then the conversation took a turn that screamed, ‘hormones at work here!’ but of course I would not recognize that message for a few years.
 
“How old are you?” he asked.
 
Not sure what to say here as all of a sudden it occurred to me that I did not want him to know I was just a silly kid (it seems the diva devil flees in the face of true love). After a pause I countered brilliantly with, “How old are you?” feeling much like Baby must have felt when she uttered the words, “I carried a watermelon.”
 
“Fifteen,” he replied, head down, hands in his pockets and kicking dirt with his right foot.
Whew, I knew it was safe to lie since he obviously was not fifteen.
 
“Well I’m fourteen,” and he nodded. He said that his family was going home the next day, (and mine still had a week to go), and asked if he could call me for a date sometime.
 
Our week passed and I soon forgot about the encounter but a few days after returning home I got a phone call. Now phone calls back then were rare. No one actually phoned unless there was a specific purpose to said call. And there were party lines so every conversation could be heard by most of the neighborhood.
 
Anyway, the call came on a Saturday morning and he asked if I could go to the matinee that afternoon with him?
I asked my Mom, and explained who this fellow was, and my brother corroborated his decent character, and Mom said yes.
 
I was a bit in awe at the potential of a first date but was pretty cool and calm about it, while my mother made me put on an actual dress and comb my hair (I was pretty much a tomboy like Trixie Belden then so gave no thought to ‘dressing up.’
 
Then I waited. And waited. And waited. I was not particularly upset, just a little confused maybe but I had not invested any hopes and dreams in this guy so it was no biggie, although looking back; it probably was for my mother.
 
Later that day a hurried whispered call came from my suitor who apologized for not showing up because his Mom had gotten mad at him and grounded him. He sounded totally humiliated and embarrassed.
“No problem,” said I, quite sincerely and meaning it. And then I promptly forgot about it, except every now and then on a hot humid overcast, July morning, my mind does that little time travel thing, where I find myself standing on a stony beach.
 


*The ‘Actually’ series are stories of childhood and family and memories.

Thanks to Photobucket for providing photos.

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