I love the smell of my knees. Don’t you? I mean, love the smell of your knees, rather? It’s a smell I find I associate with childhood. Didn’t know that I did until an hour ago, or so, when shifting yet again in search of a more comfy sitting arrangement. Somehow a knee-to-face encounter occurred. The slightly sweet, salty, fleshy goodness of knees caused a wash of memories to fall over me.
Hugging them to myself countless times as a child sitting perched along the sidewalk pushing the little piles of sand deposits around that were gathered where the black-top road met the curb pavement. Sometimes there were bits of firecracker to be found. A good day yielded a whole one, ready to be picked at until the little thing unrolled revealing the silvery powder inside. Great for then drawing hearts on those knees!
A scar, ever so faint, still remains
Running around the big toy at recess in the 2nd grade only to slip on the outer border of wet wood that separated the gravel from the grass. The bits of gravel that were then imbedded in my knee and the flat refusal to have anyone other than myself dare to remove them. The intimacy of sitting eye to knee as the courage to face the damage under those little rocks was gathered. The weeks to follow spent daily examining the healing scabs and discovering the odd enjoyment found in sniffing the sickly smell of the yellowish pus (eww, she said “pus”), only to run and slip a month later on the very same knee, and have to repeat the process. A scar, ever so faint, still remains.
Hey, there’s a new Starbucks just up the street! That means I may now go to Starbucks on my way home from Starbucks! Considering they’re but a leap and a bound from each other, no more than a block, let’s say. Does this add to the love or the hate side of my relationship with the “Bucks,” I wonder? Will have to order a drink and mull this over …
I am thrilled and delighted far too much, I sheepishly admit, to have discovered a phrase that sets a ginormous smile upon my face: chicken boobies!!! Yeah! Why haven’t I thought of this before? Chicken breasts, I say, nay-nay, chicken boobies! Hey, hey! Haha! You know you love it, too. “Yes, I’ll have the uh, chicken boobie simmered in a red wine reduction over the whole wheat couscous with the rosemary infusion.” Ch-ch-chicken!
Hey There Delilah, that song by the Plain White T’s, if we swap out the “lil” for “bor,” we have “Deborah!” Though, I do hope that doesn’t mean Deborah = lil bor, as in BORing. There just simply aren’t enough songs out there entitled “Deborah” or including “Deborah.” And I’d like there to be. There are countless other songs incorporating a variety of other female names. Sure, there’s Beck’s Debra, but he clearly has spelling issues and it’s far from romantic as the song is all about getting with some chick he’s met at a JCPenny and oh, yeah, her sister, Debra. Second fiddle, harumpf. ;) I must say, I once semi-complained of the scarcity of musically interjected “Deborah’s” at work years ago and when I came back around to the cook’s window again to pick up my order for a hungry table of diners, the cook was playing Sugar Ray’s cover of Abracadabra. At the chorus he sang it out as “AbracaDeborah.” Neato, huh?
I’ll then see someone walk right by oblivious to the entire little world they’ve just passed and I’m saddened
Alright one more thought and then my reflective hodge-podge shall cease for the time being. My pillow is awaiting a good face plant. :) Sometimes I get concerned over the ants on the ground. I could be standing at a bus stop or lounging poolside, and movement along the ground will catch my eye. All too soon, I am captivated by the workings of dozens of little ants. I begin wondering if this one is that one’s great aunt (seriously, no pun intended), or if that one is close to retirement or has two days to go until a much needed vacation, and so on. I’ll then see someone walk right by oblivious to the entire little world they’ve just passed and I’m saddened to think of those little guys who will be soon squished. I wonder, can I even move from my spot without squishing one myself? No, it seems. Death under my feet. Just like that. I know it’s all a part of how things work. But some days, things are out of whack, and it feels that no matter what I do, it’s the wrong thing, that I’ve inadvertently stepped on someone, possibly hurt their feelings, or am taken the wrong way. Then one of these little ant awareness moments occur, and though they feel very much like one of those days because there I am hurting someone I didn’t mean to, they ultimately, are incredibly inspiring! These tiny little guys can work together to accomplish so much – the construction and maintaining and thriving of their own little world. It keeps me dreaming of always improving my own little world. Which includes some much needed rest … ♦
Care to share?