June Randomness

Purge Time

Purge Time

I was packaging up some wool for a fellow knitter recently and she emailed me to ask if I’d hold onto it until she had completed a move.  She was complaining about how stressful moving was.  I joked back that I’d been in our house about 15 or 16 years now and it was driving me nuts because I couldn’t move every two years.  I LOVE to move!

There are very few things as much fun for me as that feeling of anticipation of going to a new location.  Heading out each day with a realtor, I get the same feeling that I get when a big snowstorm is predicted.  In the case of the latter, I usually wake up often in the night and race to the window to see if the snow has arrived and how much has fallen.  Well, when we’re going around with a realtor, I get that same feeling but it happens during the daytime and I feel it each time we cross the threshold of another house we are inspecting.

Bag at the ready

Bag at the ready

I just love change!  As I drove around on errands today, I was mulling over my conversation with my knitting friend and thinking about my nephew and his family who had recently moved to Alaska.  Oh, man, do I miss that.

Just then, “MacArthur Park” came on over the radio.  Ah, yes…Richard Harris.  What was he thinking when he recorded that song? For that matter, what was Jimmy Webb thinking when he composed it?  Have you ever listened to the lyrics?  If that isn’t an object lesson for artists in not using drugs, I don’t know what is.  As for Richard Harris, well, I think he must have been drunk when he decided to record it.  He DID like to drink.  I wonder if his buddy, Peter O’Toole put him up to it.

It seems like it was just last week that I was listening to “MacArthur Park”  in my college dorm, secure in the knowledge that my parental “safety net” was firmly in place back home.  I was carefree, focused on things like what guy I was going to set my sights on and what play I was going to try out for next, and thinking that I had an infinite number of years ahead of me.

This week, I turn on my radio and I’m suddenly in my sixties, parentless, and all too aware of how fast the years really go.  It makes me angry.  Why does the park have to melt?  Why was the cake left out in the rain?  Why are you able to talk and joke with your mother one week and the next week have an urn with her cremains in your house?  Where’s the reset button?

Adam and Eve, I blame it on you!  You had to go and eat that darn apple.  It wasn’t even a doughnut, for Pete’s sake!




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