I'm terribly clumsy. So, long story short, we've been out a blender for some time. But no more will my frozen canned pina colada mix thing sit idle in the freezer, having gone on sale the day after 'the incident' and myself having forgotten and stocked up on frosty deliciousness, for we visited costco! My manfriend and I took his sister and her manfriend in, us having the much coveted costco card, to buy toilet paper. And of course we came out with a cart worth 200$... And...! No, not a blender, but something even better!! A 'Smoothee-Bar'! Ya, it's a blender with a spout bit at the bottom... but you can both blend and pour... at the same time! It's amazing. I'm amazed.
I'm also amazed that I survived an hour hike up a mountain that almost did me in, a full day on a lake, fishing from a sketchy raft we found, lol, and paddled around on with freaking sticks, in the rain, and didn't manage to catch a single thing. Like, seriously? Effort=reward! Get it right, nature.
Nature, though, has provided me with a nag. A wisp of an idea that I know must surely solidify into an idea, some fabulous thought, both deep and whimsical, that can then be teased into words, words crafted into poetry. If only I could just sit and think! I need moments (yes, plural, it's that vague of an idea, it's a nag after all, a wee tug at the back of my mind) to dedicate to the art of pondering. Pooh-style. (teehee, poo!).
My nag: A great big tree I pass in the morning, really really early in the morning, like pre-sun-rise-and-that-time-when-sane-people-wake-up, stretches its canopy over a large portion of sidewalk and throughout the night will have left a circle of sticky all around it, strong enough to tug at my shoes. What kind of tree leaks from it's leaves, it's branches' tippy bits? Is that what's happening? I don't know. But in the afternoon, walking home that same way, I always walk on that same stretch of sidewalk and see it sprinkled with bees, wasps, hornets, a potpourri of stingers in all different fashions of stripes, stuck or ... what? What are they doing? My shoes no longer stick, but these little fellows, a handful of them, have congregated, mellow and well-spaced, so I don't have to step on them, and they don't seem to get too riled up. How terribly interesting, no?