Through the Looking Glass (Eliza Gilkyson)

Wonderful to see Girlock and Jennifer again yesterday after their Tour o' Florida; since their flight back to PA left later that night, we had a chance to view the local burrowing owls (awesome!), walk around the Broward College Lake to see more wildlife (Egyptian geese!), go out to lunch at Don Pepe's (Cuban/Mexican!), and head back to my place for a few hours for more conversation (in the A/C; yesterday's high was 96 degrees!).

Lovely day, but more social than this hermit is used to lately, and I was exhausted; ended up taking a Cortisol Manager pill to ensure a good night's sleep, and didn't wake up until 9 a.m.  Bliss... 💖 

As soon as I hit Send, I am curling up with the (NR) book below, for this Tuesday's book club Zoom gathering.

NR:  The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz 

SONG:  Through the Looking Glass by Eliza Gilkyson

BOOK:  Change Your World: How Anyone, Anywhere Can Make a Difference by John C. Maxwell, Rob Hoskins

POEM:  Confusion by Judith Viorst

I can't figure out if it's gas or a coronary.

I can't figure out if it's hostile or benign.

I can't figure out if I'm turning into a hypochondriac, or just being sensible.

I can't figure out when we stop supporting our children.

(At twenty-one? At thirty? Forty-nine?)

I can't figure out if not bothering to change the sheets in the guest room in between houseguests is ever an option, or always reprehensible.

I can't figure out why men won't ask for directions.

(Is it genetic or could they be retrained?)

I can't figure out when dressed in the height of fashion, if I'm looking incredibly chic or slightly ridiculous.

I can't figure out if my tale is enthralling or boring.

(What are those facial expressions? Spellbound? Or pained?)

I can't figure out if I wanting all the hangers in my closet to face the same way means I'm obsessive-compulsive, or merely meticulous.

I can't figure out if I've gone from stable to stodgy.

(Is "reliable" what I want as my epitaph?)

I can't figure out if helping yourself to a shrimp from your spouse's plate ought to be viewed as intimacy or intrusion.

I can't figure out if I've lost my sense of humor

Or if, after fifty, it just gets harder to laugh.

And I can't figure out if everyone else has figured everything out, or whether we are all in a state of confusion.

QUOTE:  "The realization that each day's 24-hour offering is abundant and more than enough is a fairly recent one. In a more renewed sense, today, personhood for me has begun to look like a home that is being lived in — where the light goes out sometimes, pipes break, sinks get clogged, wires trip, paint on the walls chips off." ~ Anjali Menon