Day 844

Darn. I thought I had a great picture today. One that showed how I've been dragging, how I'm slipping back into icky-ness. Although the picture doesn't show it as much as I expected, I guess it'll do.

Maybe I'm reading it wrong. Maybe the car is telling me I should keep my chin up - otherwise by butt will look too big. (And goodness knows it doesn't need to look any bigger than it already is.)

Day 843

More liquids today, just not the kind coming from the sky.

A very relaxed cat.
Slobber.
Slobber bubble.

Eww.

Day 842

More raindrops on the sunroof.

Day 841

As I've said more than once, I love the sunroof in my car. Not just because of the sun but because of the rain.

Interesting. I'm starting to think raindrops are like snowflakes with no two being the same.

Day 840

What kind of storm had to be experienced before I was able to drive in the sunshine?

The black clouds in the rear view mirror tell the story.

Day 839

When you take a picture every day you have to pay attention. Pay attention to the things around you. Inside, outside, up in the sky, and down on the ground.

Thanks to looking at the ground, in the gravel, in the parking lot outside the city park, I found today's picture. I also found some little guy's (or girl's) teeny tiny lego pieces just as they left them.

Day 838

I've still been on this "suck out all the marrow of life" kick. While the combination of the rheumatoid arthritis and the lung thing did it to me, Alaska really did it to me. The freedom of the scooter, the ability to go wherever, do whatever. Makes me want to do even more. Go all out.

So perhaps that was what was in my head as we were driving down the freeway the other day when I blurted out to hubby. I think I should get a tattoo next, I say.

Neither one of us have ever had a tattoo, never even thought of getting one. But at that exact moment hubby thought it was a great idea and even knew what it should say:

Live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.

Yea. I think that's good. So when I shared with my daughter where I wanted it - somewhere where it could be seen, yet hidden - she nixed it. Too much, mom. It'll hurt there and that's not a good place for all those words. Where did I want it? Only where someone who is on the edge of busting through the marrow -someone who is teetering on the edge of wild - would think.

All over the fingers. Too bad permanent marker rubs off. Guess I gotta rethink this one.