Listening to Sylvie's four-year-old, Zuzu, chat on (and on - that girl can talk!), made me realize how similar her speech was to, say, my 22 y/o nephew. And most young people I run into today. Somewhere, within the long, rapid, stream-of-conscious mumbling, are words that I can understand. With Z, it was the names of her three BFFs: Kimberly, Hope and Ramona (her little sister). With my nephew and other 20-somethings, I can clearly pick up many "likes", "ums", "actuallys", and, in his case, an occasional "Aunt Sue". The rest is a glutenous mass of rapid jumbled consonants. It causes me to turn into a fogey - "What?" "What was that?" "Can you speak more slowly?" Could it be a global plot to instill unease and unrest in baby boomers? Will we be drooling into our Cream of Wheat within a decade? Mumbling ourselves?
The thrill caused by that extra hour of daylight we are getting, thanks to setting the clock back yesterday, sure fizzles out quickly. I can hustle my bustle a little longer for what -- a week? -- before the day gets even shorter and it doesn't make one whit of a difference. And it is totally dark by the time I get home, giving me nothing extra there. So why, pray tell, do we keep going back and forth? Just let Mother Nature take her course, I say!
Our family has finally stepped into the Age of Enlightenment. We are celebrating our first No-Gift Christmas. While I am sure that a lot of my reluctance to 'gift' everyone on the 25th of December, year in, year out, has to do a bit with my childlessness, I think it's more that I have come to a time and place in my life where I have too much stuff, don't want any more stuff (except, however, a SNOW WOLF), and would just like to spend a pleasant day with my family, listening to music, playing board games and enjoying a wonderful meal. Bliss, I tell you. So far, we are all on the NGC wagon - with the exception of my middle sis, from whom we have not heard on this subject. She is uber-generous and it will be difficult for her. But I know she can do it.
I have always had a very rich imagination. When I was small, I had a very active imaginary life. As I grew up, I could imagine myself in great adventures - doing amazing things. Imagine how surprised I was when I failed miserably upon actually doing it! Case in point: I loved to watch skiers. I KNEW I would be an amazing skier. My first foray into skiing was in college. I had gone from Ohio (f.l.a.t.) to Michigan, where, when the first snowflake hits the ground, skis come out, parkas are zipped up and everyone heads to the slopes. Not one to be left behind, off I went. I rented skis and poles and shunned lessons. For crying out loud - the baby slope? Not for Susan aka Suzy Chaffee! I will give you the quick version of my day on the slopes: wobble, fall, wobble, fall, wobble really fast, spectacular fall, hobble to chalet for hot toddy. I hate to admit it, but I am still delusional. I am just less inclined to break something, as it heals ever so slowly now.
Why are there so many sayings that involve poultry? Something to crow about. Pecking order. Madder than a wet hen. Talk turkey. Nest egg. Coming home to roost. Chicken-livered. Feather your nest. Chicken scratch. Comb your hair (I made that up....) Okay - I know there are a lot more - anyone like to join in? Let's see how many we can come up with.