Author: patponderslife

I'm a writer, editor, wife, mother, grandmother, friend, seeker of truths with a small 't.' I've retired twice--once as a social worker/therapist and secondly as community college remedial writing instructor-tutor. My husband and I moved to north-central Florida in August 2015 when our grandson was born. Now he has a sister, and I cherish my time with them. I mostly reflect on life, and I write--essays, novels, novellas, stories, and lists.

baggage

~ patponderslife ~ 1 Comment

I forgot the bags, again.

There’s a note on the dashboard,

“DON’T FORGET THE BAGS!”

But I was distracted,

And now I’m in air conditioning

Pushing a cart, reading my list, and asking–

Should I go back to the car?

 

On the floor in the back seat are bags—

From Publix, Fresh Market and Aldi,

Whole Foods, Win Dixie, and Target.

There’s one from a posh store in Virginia,

Saved from a visit to friends.

There’s a turquoise bag from a trip to Maine,

And one with whales from Alaska.

There’s a nice one from Trader Joe’s

With compartments for bottles of wine.

There are two with bright green and white stripes

That keep frozen foods from melting.

Several are made of strange crinkly fabric,

Some of cotton and canvas,

A lot of them are Polypropylene

Which is basically recycled plastic.

 

But I’m in the store

And they’re in the car.

I had a thought

~ patponderslife ~ 8 Comments

We older ladies spend a lot of our lives in self-conscious misery, worrying about what others think. Change out of that skirt with the stain, put on your eye liner, wear your decent shoes instead of those ratty old sneakers, comb your hair. As I get older, I realize how foolish that is. Nobody cares. To them, we are not even a blip on their radar. We are the person standing in front of the freezer at the supermarket when they want ice cream, the person in front of or behind them in line, the car in the next lane going exactly the speed limit when they want to pull into our lane before the light. We have no status or recognition in their lives. We might happen to have a brief encounter, “Oh, I’m sorry; was I in your way?” “No, no, it’s fine.” If asked that evening to describe us: “Um, well, I think she had on flowered pants,” or, “She had white hair.” (That might not even be true any longer because virtually everyone has white hair it seems. At least in Florida.)

Anyway, anyway, stop worrying about what people think of you. They don’t. Anymore than you think of them. We are insignificant in their lives. That’s not a good thing. Nor is it a bad one. It just is.

If you want to wear your good shoes and draw black lines around your eyes, go ahead. But do it for yourself. Because no one else will notice.