Sunday, March 6, 2016


                                                           PASSION IN A DRAWER                                   

      As there is a chance that we may be moving from this site in a few months, I have spent a considerable amount of time going through files, cupboards, closets and 70s handbags. It’s amazing what you find. This morning started out well when I discovered an envelope full of gift cards we’d gotten for Christmas. What a treat. As I have about $16.42 left in the checking for groceries until payday, March 23rd, this discovery was a godsend. 

     I also found two blog posts that were quite humorous and telling. The “Passion Pursuit” was quite witty, I say humbly, but that was over three years ago, and my life has changed drastically. I now have purpose, and that has made my early morning thoughts much more pleasant. It’s not all about “Autumn Wheat;” it’s now about thumb-under scale exercise. For those of you unenlightened souls who have not been following every thrilling minute of my life, I am now performing on stage in a one-woman show. Reviews have been outstanding (mostly from my hubby and best friend), and I’m now engaged daily in marketing my weird talents.

     The interesting thing about writing a blog is that you can look back on your life and realize that things ebb and flow. Sometimes we’re bored; sometimes we’re frustrated. Sometimes we’re stimulated; sometimes we’re stimulating. Sometimes we’re miserable; sometimes we’re ecstatic. That’s called life. As I read “Passion Pursuit,” I realize just how wonderful it feels to have it - passion— once again. For those of you without it, I suggest checking your file cabinets and nightstands. It’s amazing where you can find this.

     Check out the blog from 3 years ago.

                                                            PASSION PURSUIT

I used to be passionate about many things: tennis, my career, sex, performing on stage, shopping. All this raw energy came to a screeching halt last Thursday when I realized that the only things I am passionate about are breakfast and skinny jeans. I think some neurons got clogged with Creamy Jiff.

I used to get up every morning rested and bursting with enthusiasm about whatever the day had in store for me. Now I wake at 3 a.m. thinking about cereal. There is indeed something wrong with this picture. I must find my lost passion.

As I sit wracking my brain in the wee hours of the morning, I consider why I have lost my passion. Part of this is because I have been passionate about the same things since Sputnik. Passion doesn’t always jive with longevity. I remember the first time I saw the word “longevity,” I had no idea what it meant. When I found out that it was extra money in my paycheck, I became very passionate about it.

I am a woman, and this means that shopping will always be a passion. The problem is that I dress in costume, and at my age, my taste in clothing is only appropriate for 20-something rock stars. “A woman of a certain age” should never shop where I do. Fortunately, my friends choose to humor me when they see my outrageous couture; but people in public places have begun to stare.

I still like performing on stage, but the people they’ve hired on any given night get quite hostile when I try to upstage them. I explain that it’s “all in fun,” but they do not laugh, and the bouncer has to gently remove “the old gal.”

I am still passionate about sex when I can remember it. I peaked in my late thirties when I tried to seduce my graduate advisor. At the time I was attracted to his intellect fooling myself into believing it matched his libido. No such luck. One of my younger friends took him home and put him on a shelf as a book-end.

I get very excited about good movies, but they all come out between December 1st and January 4th, so after a month of inhaling stale popcorn and listening to clicking texters, I choose to stay home and watch Two and a Half Men reruns.

Last night, we went to a cover band concert where 70-somethings were dancing in the back of the concert hall. Other than the fact that velcro shoes should not be worn in public, much less danced in, the music was terrific. Took me back to the days when I was passionate about more than Wheat Chex. Double-chinned groupies looked like Golden Age bobble-heads trying to keep up with the beat. It did my heart good when a couple of the 40ish band members forgot the lyrics.

I have now found my passion:  writing about what I’ve lost. yay.