Thursday, September 02, 2010

The one that's bipolar

Is anyone clued in to how Facebook chooses what ads to run in the sidebars of different pages? Because right now it's telling me to "unleash my inner pinup" by attending a hair and makeup training in New York City.

Yes. ME.

A 48-year-old, chubby, freckled mess of a woman who leaves the house for work with wet hair, who wears clothes so much they do actually get holes in them (I poked an elbow through a favorite shirt the other day, the material is too thin to repair! SOB!), whose makeup routine consists of hiding the rosacea (for I have it, you know)/drawing on eyebrows,/slapping on mascara, and who wears heels about once a year.


Yeah. That'll be the day.

And thus my next Hallowe'en costume idea is born.


Things come in threes, so it is said.

Death, apparently, is among those things. After the untimely and massively shattering death of Biff's Dad early this year, and the sad slipping away of his Mom in June, it would have seemed that he and his family had really had quite enough of death.

Not so, say the fates.

His Grandmother passed away in the early hours of yesterday. This is the grandma in California who we went out to visit with in April. A fantastic lady, she was forthright, demanding, interesting, and frail. Congestive heart failure was sapping her strength, she couldn't walk more than a few feet at a time without getting winded, needed help getting out of the tub, and was clearly pissed off by how her body was letting her down. Mind clear as glass, body as useful as a bad set of dentures. Still worked, but just not very well.

She was 90, and will be missed. I was looking forward to going out to see her again, but the next time we meet she won't know it.

I sure do hope that things come in threes, because that family simply can't take any more of this death stuff. Enough is, quite plainly, enough.


Ah well, this is the stage of life in which we find ourselves. Not so much with the weddings and babies, and much more so with the funerals and hospitals. Life is cycling through as it does, and we just go along for the ride.

Tiff out.

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