Light Bulb Moment

This morning I had the perfect example of a Light Bulb Moment. It started when I left the kitchen to get something from the linen closet.

Then I spent at least two minutes staring at the contents of my linen closet, trying to remember what it was that I was there to get.

That was when I had my Light Bulb Moment -- I was here to get a new light bulb for the kitchen.

Ask a Stupid Question . . .

Ask a Stupid Question . . . . 

They say there are no stupid questions. I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I think they are wrong on this one. Here are a few that I have been asked. I am sure that I have asked lot of them myself, but l don’t remember, not that I would want to remember.

At coffee shops, my usual order is a large black coffee. The kid behind the counter will invariably ask:

               “Would you like cream with that?"

When my hubby asks me something,
     and I say, “I think thus and thus...” 
he will almost invariably ask, “Are you sure?”

 "No.  I am not sure!

 That would be why I started my answer with “I think.”

I was once asked,e “Are those your real eyes?”
Ummm. Yes?

 I think the question he meant to ask was, 
           "Are you wearing coloured contacts?"
    or: "Is that your real eye colour?" 

       or maybe it was just a really bad pick up line.

Anyway, I think those are stupid questions.

Eating Chicken on a Grave?

No, that's not morbid . . . it was a birthday party!

My husband and his sister had planned to get together 'one of these days', and you know how that goes. They got as far as deciding to go have a chicken dinner at Chicken Chef. But, life was always too busy.

   . . . and then he was gone.


My sister-in-law messaged me last week to tell me that Derek owed her a chicken dinner, and she was planning to collect on that promise , by getting take-out food from Chicken Chef on his birthday, and eating it at his graveside. Did we want to join her?


I thought the idea was a little morbid, but okay, I agreed to join her for a picnic in the cemetery -- I had wanted to go put some flowers on Derek's grave anyway. We invited my kids, and Derek's brother and his wife. We set up chairs around the grave, and ate chicken.

So we celebrated Derek's birthday at the site where his physical body was laid to rest almost three months ago. It was cold!


What kept this graveside picnic from getting morbid or creepy was that Derek isn't there anymore, just the body that contained his spirit for 58 years. We  know where he is, and that he must be looking down at us eating chicken on his grave on the coldest day of March.

Muddling through the Murky Middles

You know you are middle aged when . . .

     . . . you realize that you have not become your mother after all. Somehow, you skipped right into becoming your grandmother!

     . . . you and your friends have stopped one-upping each other's horror stories from labour pains and the delivery room, and have been  comparing notes on your collection of ailments and  syndromes.

         . . .  you still buy the sexy nightie, but now you wonder how it will look with your incontinence brief underneath.


        . . . . Your back and your knees plead with you to stay home, but your bank account says you have to go to work.  

Here's to all of us muddling  through the murky middles. Soon enough we will be joining the grey hair crowd, but for now, what happens at the hair salon is still magic.