At Least They're Committed

My best thinking time is when I’m trying to figure out what to do with my hair in the morning. Typically, for some bizarre reason, that’s when Randy pops into my head and me having to invade his home with Aunt Patti when she was visiting once because her bladder could last no longer when we were out jogging. That and Mr. Moon giving me a couple mimosas on New Year’s Eve when I was in early high school as our all parents, of which he was one, partied together. I took the mimosas, sat with the other children in the closet and told horror stories I was making up as I went along that had something to do with those little plastic trolls with long hair. Hmmm. I wonder what happened to mine. I always thought I rather looked like them. Regardless, both memories are frivolous and nice enough experiences, but ones that leave me slightly unsure why they’re stuck in my head when I wrestle with my hair.

At least I have hair.

At least I have hair that is of this decade as opposed to high school hair or, worse yet, I don’t care just let it grow and I’ll pull it back into a convenient pony tail hair!

Oh, I heard from Gary! My sweet classmate. Still chatting about the hike planned for our class reunion. I’ve only heard a little about it, but you KNOW I’ll be there! He’s second in command at the Naval base in Norfolk and once told me he’d love to give us a tour on his boats . . . though they’d have to take the guns off. I squealed! I wanted the guns ON! Ha!

It’s a Friday night and, as usual at our house, we have folks coming in and out of all ages and it’s so great because that’s what I always imagined us to be as a family. But really this is very quiet right now and nice.

I’m learning, I’m learning.