I have been tagged by Nina and Laura to participate in the 8 Random Facts Meme. Patrice, too! (I think maybe Laurie and/or Lynne did too, early on, but Oh! my brain :0) (I'm making up fans as I go, here)
You know it well by now.
We list eight random facts/habits about ourselves which others do not know.
It's so nice to have a command performance forum in which to focus on the most interesting phenomenon in the universe - me.
I'll not tag anyone, but invite all bloggers to participate and then PLEASE drop in to let me know you've done some thinking. It so humanizes these remarkable blogs sifting through the ether.
My goal is to develop a better sense of humor. I'm sixty years old and like all the old fogies you've ever known - I too, just can't believe how fast it went.
Like my blogging buddy Laurie, at DMMGMFM,(Laurie, did I dream this?) I played taps at funerals when I was a kid. I hid, trembling, behind tombstones waiting for Mr. Day's cue. I also played the organ for daily mass. I trembled a lot up in that choir loft, too. Only in a small town with a small talent pool could this happen.
Regrets. I've been thinking a great deal about regrets. I think you do this as you age in an effort to move on. I wish I'd had a closer relationship with my dad. I was one of seven children. He had his own regrets that may have hampered his ability to connect. I knew he loved me.
TV - a love/hate relationship. I don't watch the news. I've never seen American Idol. Antique Roadshow may be my favorite program. I don't own any true antiques (maybe a pot, here - a figurine, there) My hubby dislikes old things. I find them painfully poignant. You know - whose hands have held this item, cherished it?
Maybe that haunting is why he dislikes them.
I hate shopping - for anything. I'm not sure what that is. It just seems there are so many more interesting things I could be doing. Maybe it's that I have to make decisions.
I feed the critters in my back yard in Ohio. It's stupid. It's a compulsion. It's upsetting some of the neighbors. HELP ME!
I've experienced telepathy. Sometimes dramatic - sometimes silly. My grandmother was telepathic. As I age it occurs much less frequently.
I wish people would read poetry aloud to me. It doesn't happen. I don't listen to music. Music by-passes the mind and goes directly to the heart. I think the human voice, speaking the words that carry the experiences of the heart, does for me what others allow music to do for them. Poetry is not as inchoate. It more specifically explains, enlightens, or simply nods assent. Am I weird?
I don't like arbitrary boundaries. Rather than choose to delete one of the above facts in order to share my favorite childhood memory - I push the envelop - the meme mutates:
Early morning. I follow my kid-brother on his bike. I'm helping him with his Sunday paper route. The grass is wet. My sneakers are filled with dew. We do not speak. A gray cat sits on a sunlit windowsill. I feel the warmth on its white paws. . .