I’ve had a nasty virus for the last week, but I am feeling much better now. Just don’t want to push myself this week, so didn’t go to Tai Chi. It’s a beautiful day, though, and I am just taking it in. The bird poop on my rearview mirror, the dust on the rear window, you know, the usual “joys” of everyday life.

The relief of getting to and from Tuesday Morning safely. (I had to go get a tub of salt water taffy.) Now I am home again. I plan to make new chili recipe this afternoon and then take a walk.

So what else is new? Me? I am newborn every moment. You can’t beat that. I find myself to be endearingly and frustratingly innocent. I am not sure how I feel about anything anymore. I page through the morning paper increasingly bored with it. Like a toddler wanting out of the playpen. I whine about the ever-reducing quality of the printed word.

Aging is not something undertaken easily. The joints seize up and the thoughts vanish like smoke. It’s adorable, really. No?

You see, Ram Dass is on the cutting age of “senior cute.” No one can touch him in that category. So I am gonna invent a new one just for myself. “Senior something or other.” No more typecasting for me. The legs are the last thing to go and that is true in my case. Everything else can be permanently covered.

I no longer have to talk to people I don’t like. I don’t have to show up any where there is no food. I am rather like a pet in that respect.

I hope you are giggling by now. If not, I will pee on your new mattress when you leave the house.

Oh, yeah, please order Bigger Than The Sky. It will reduce you to tears and I offer no apology for that. If you don’t order it, I will be the one reduced to tears and I may have to start giving satsang for sissies. (That’s where you don’t have to be nobody if you don’t want to. You can remain somebody and I may even offer a discount for that because, well, it’s so REFRESHING.

Love,
Vicki