If I lived closer to one of the colleges in town I’d worry that maybe all those guys with their pickup trucks are frat boys setting up a new fraternity house. Oh, well, I learned a long time ago I’m not in charge of the world, but if they do turn out to be frat boys I’m hand-painting a sign warning them about the dangers of peeing in the cattail bog that separates our two properties. I guess you’d call that a passive aggressive welcome to the neighborhood. Could you blame me? I love the toads that hang around that bog and they shouldn’t have to endure boy-power showers.
Monday I had to go to the dentist. I didn’t have a problem but the guy likes to nit-pick and this time he wanted to remove two of my silver fillings. I hated to see them go. I’ve had them since my teen years but he thought they were worn out and in danger of cracking thus damaging the teeth in the process. He showed me photos of their surfaces to make his case. I told him I was sentimental about those fillings. He said, “Get over it.” And that’s how I ended up on his schedule. Who gets sentimental over a filling? Me. I could get sentimental over a hangnail.
In one of his songs Kenny sings about “French kissing life square on the mouth.” It’s been a long time since I’ve French kissed life---since I've had that over-the-top passion for doing something fun in the moment. I guess while I have my paints out to make a plaque about not peeing in the bog I should make another one to remind me to go forth and French kiss life full on the mouth. Forget thoughts of quilts and making mittens, for now! I need to plan some summertime fun. Nothing happens without a plan. Well, that’s not true but since when did I ever let facts get in the way of my ramble writing here on Widowhood Lane? ©