(photo: Cheeky racing to stock up nuts for the winter)
I knew a woman once who complained of boredom. She was beautiful, had two children, a house I adored, a husband and, I believe, a dog or two.
I did not then, nor do I now, understand how she could possibly be bored. OMG, I rarely have time to do everything I want and need to do and seem always to have conflicts when one night of the 30 or so in that month will be multiple choice for where I go or what I do.
That said, I see it’s been a while since my last post. Work, committees (love ‘em and hate ‘em) getting my stuff ready for the Holiday art exhibit, twisting balloons at the Christmas Fair and, two nights ago, a call from my son for a babysitter for the WGG tonight.
I love my blog and feel a connection to those who read my ramblings, but the WGG comes first—always.
The lady I mentioned died quite young from cancer. If being bored has any connection, and I suspect our minds have quite a lot to do with that scourge—I don’t have to worry about it.
Cheers
SLI
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