Benjamin Franklin believed this and commemorated that belief in his little ditty:
Early to bed, early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.
Unfortunately, a decent routine has been tough to scare up around here for the past six months. Unpredictability has become the watchword of the day - chaos the lingua franca.
Take my bedroom slippers, for instance. They need to be beside my bed at just a certain angle, in order for me to slip out of bed in the dark and into my slippers without mishap, should nature call in the middle of the night.
The problem is that I never know which bed it is going to be, (up the hill or down the hill) or which slippers I may be slipping into...or is it on? Whichever, I never know.
I am up the hill, where we supposedly live (well, the LOC* does live there with the resident Lhasa Apso, Holly, and I visit as frequently as circumstances and helpful friends allow me to). Then I am back down the hill, where my son, K., lives and who is currently bed fast after a difficult surgery, with a recovery period that is becoming the longest in the history of modern medicine.
(*Lovable Old Coot)
Of course, K. cannot help it that the surgeon left him with a hole in his backside that you could drive a Hummer through, and thankfully, it is now down to where we are only talking a Smart Car.
We are thankful, but my geezerwheel is wheezing at this point.
I have always been fascinated by the idea of a trained Flea Circus. Whether such a thing ever actually existed, or has only lived in imaginations, I do not know; but the idea of training such unpredictable little creatures ... well, that is something I could think about for hours, if I could concentrate that long.
You know, the idea of jumping fleas, being trained to jump or not jump and when, where, and how high? Just add "what and who" and you would also have trained flea journalists, would you not? Lately, I'm doing a lot of jumping too, the difference being I often do not know where or when I will be called upon to jump next, and certainly I have no idea how high. And I'm a short person, so that is another problem.
I tell you my internal geezerwheel needs work, as in major maintenance, perhaps a complete overhaul.
This business of living in two places at once, and neither of them being all that familiar (we just moved into the house up the hill a couple of months ago) it is just disconcerting, discombobulating, and it has my geezerwheel all out of whack.
Why the other day, I went looking in four different closets, in two different houses, for a particular pair of slacks, only to discover that I was already wearing them. Now that is scary!
Then yesterday, I moaned picking up a pencil I had dropped, until I had to blush after realizing it wasn't under the sofa, or even on the floor. It was on a table right in front of me. Now that is embarrassing!
I used to be made of sterner stuff; but your stern tends to wilt and your stuff tends to fade, when your geezerwheel is off kilter. I'm just saying ...
You only get one geezerwheel, at least as far as I know it is still one to a customer, and it has to last you your whole life long. At the rate mine is gyrating, I'm pretty sure I am not long for this world. I'm too old for hot flashes and too young for assisted living, so I guess there is nothing for it but to keep jumping. But I gotta' tell 'ya - the old geezerwheel just isn't what it used to be.
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Hope your geezerwheel is in better shape than mine is in - and that you can actually recall what it is for. Until next time ... jumping jehosephat ... it's Marsha