Guardian Angels et al

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet Act 1, scene 5 When I was twenty, I had life all figured out. When I hit forty, not so much. Now at this number of spent decades I realize I don’t know squat. I used to be a doubting Thomas about anything I couldn’t see up close and personal. But let’s face it. I can’t see bacteria, not without a microscope, and there are one or two of those suckers which just might take humanity out one of these days. Ebola. A game changer. And Pluto. First it didn’t exist. Then it did. Then it was a planet. Then it wasn’t. Now it’s a dwarf planet. Whatever. All because we found it with a mammoth telescope. But it’s been doing its thing all this time, regardless of what we call it or when we saw it. But back to me and what I can’t see, like my guardian angel. I didn’t know I had one until after my mother passed about a year and a half ago. Mom and I were close. Her death, even though expected, took a lot from me. We were more than mother and daughter. We were good friends. Recently, I was speaking to her as I am wont to do upon occasion. It had been an odd, down day for me, so I asked my mother out loud if I had guardian angel. I knew Mom was a believer. She wore one of several small pins depicting guardian angels on her lapel or collar every day. I heard my mother’s voice as sure as if she was in the next room. “Of course, you do. It’s your Aunt Ann.” I was shocked for a lot of reasons (let’s put aside hearing your dead…

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1% Polynesian Princess

I just had my DNA tested. 99 bucks and you find out who you are, although I thought I already knew. For a girl who is the off-spring of a 100% Italian/American on my mom’s side (both her parents came from Bari, Italy) and the other (my father), with a mother named Margaret MacLaughlin (can you get any more Irish sounding). My grandfather was English/French Canadian (De Haven), so I didn’t think this news would be too shocking. And yet…. here are the results. Africa North 2% Europe West 49% Italy/Greece 24% Iberian Peninsula 8% Trace Regions 8% Pacific Islander < 1% Trace Regions < 1% And the Irish would be where? But on the upside, I find having even a scant 1% Polynesian is exhilarating. I mean, how exotic is that!! And while I haven’t learned yet that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Polynesian Princess, until hard evidence says otherwise, that’s what I’m going with. My call. This is sooooo me. Now I know why I love Hawaii!  Pass the tiara and the poi. Here’s some info on my new people: Most of Polynesia’s islands lie within a triangular area in the Pacific Ocean. The Polynesian Triangle’s “points” are Hawaii, Easter Island (Rapu Nui) and New Zealand. It’s a world defined by the ocean. With about 120,000 square miles of land spread across some 10 million square miles of water, Polynesia’s islands were among the last places on Earth to be settled by humans. Despite great distances separating the outer islands, the Polynesian people are linked by linguistic, cultural and genetic ties.  

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Time To Chuck The Bengay

  Hubby and I just returned from a ten-day cruise. Cruising seems to be what more ‘mature’ people do these days. I suspect it has something to do with not having to pack and unpack every time you hit a new place. That can be such a drag. Add into the mix someone comes in to straighten out your room three times a day, and makes and serves your meals. Now you’ve really got something. Everything is done for you with a big smile, whether they mean it or not. Being home the first day was a shock. What is this, I have to open my own refrigerator door and find something to cook for dinner? What do you mean I have to make my own bed? While I loved being home and cuddling with my cats, this was a big let-down. I pondered all of this as I brushed my teeth, concentrating hard on my lust for the sybaritic lifestyle. After about twenty-seconds I noticed the toothpaste tasted funny. I picked up the tube and read the label: Bengay. I panicked then rinsed and spit, expecting my entire mouth to tingle and burn from the ointment. It didn’t. I read further on the label. Expiration date: 2011.  What had once been a soothing muscle ointment became a gelatinous nothing in only four years over it’s due date.I looked at my face. Only several decades over my due date. Time to take another cruise.

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