I know, I know, you are all asking yourselves, "Now, where on earth might I be so lucky as to find such a fine, long-sleeved t-shirt such as this, without having to walk to the very ends of the globe, in order to find one?"
Panic ye not, help is at hand - our very own talented and gifted artist, Chewy, has availed a whole multitude of her brilliant designs, all ready for the picking from her Red Bubble shop. This latest one I am sporting comes in all colours and styles, from t-shirt to hoodie, so you can go trot on over there without delay, to pick out whatever delight your little heart might desire! Me? I've limited myself to three, and this one here, it isn't even my most favourite one. Go and have yourself a gander over there, I promise you, you will not be disappointed.
And swiftly moving on..
Chantel wrote an intruging post this week, about people-watching, and mostly of how what people tend to do with their hands, tells much about them. It made me laugh (a little hysterically, as I slightly shuddered) to think of what my hands must say of me.
I have my mother's hands, though perhaps a little less chafed and worn.
My fingers are long, good for the piano, so I am told (not that I play) - my nails are strong, they rarely break, and as I have never been a nail-biter, I file them to stunt their growth. I apply polish, but never coloured, just a natural, transparent shine. I don't like this present trend for square-set nails; mine I fashion oval, shaped smooth with an emery board, with no sharp edges to catch or tear.
These days I prefer not to call too much attention to these hands of mine, they've come to reflect my age much too accurately.
Recently I've taken to creaming them last thing at night, in bed, before turning out the light. Actually, I've taken to creaming more or less every other part of me too, but most especially my feet and hands, it's soothing, a comfort to me at the end of my day.
It's a long-standing family joke that I'd be mute, were my hands ever bound. Yes, I am tactile, must touch as I talk, but more than that, I find it near impossible to express myself without also flinging my hands up or down, pointing and gesticulating this way and that, unconsciously miming out the actions to my words.
It often gets me in trouble.
Not everyone likes their personal space invaded. Likewise, some can mis-interpret my way of interacting with others as over friendly, and become either threatened (backing off, body language screaming, "I've got a girlfriend/husband/dog/leave me alone, you stupid, scary nutter) or even mis-reading my signs altogether, believing I'm really saying, "Yes, of course I'm a complete and utter slag, and I simply can't wait to jump in to the sack with you" (invariably leading to disappointment on both sides).
Ironic then, that I of all people, should have had to have a son who usually cringes at the slightest touch, isn't it? Spontaneous hugs are as scalding water to him. Maybe he is my lesson in life, to stop and think before always following through? That said, he is the only one who's ever LITERALLY allowed me to talk with my hands. In his earlier years, with he then non-verbal, our best method of communication came through signing. We used Makaton - signs combined with facial expression, gesture and speech, to help to aid us in our joint communication.
(Hmmmn... come to think of it now, and over18 years down the line, maybe some of the blame for this way I've come about, should actually be laid squarely at his door?)
And as to people watching..
I used to enjoy that a lot, I think most do. But as I said to Chantel, maybe I overdosed a bit on that, when it became my main means of earning a living.
Nowadays, I'm happier tuning out the odd character I may trip across as I venture down the supermarket aisle. Um, actually (blush) I shop on-line, which kinda' rests my case, doesn't it? It's not so much that I'm anti-social, 'cos I'm not, not really, I'm just.. well, weary, is all.
See, people don't surprise me much, anymore. And I no longer have the patience I once had. Years of training, combined with instinct, has turned me into a virtual (happy) house hermit, these days. Sure, I am still curious about the world, just not so much interested in the kind of folk who inhabit it, is all. I can't be arsed with the necessary games required to play - and face it, we ALL indulge in them, whether few or many.
It takes a lot of fun out of encounters, when you're groomed to pick up on most of that guff. Saps the energy.
I have tired of people watching.
Maybe this is why I blog. Our community has a nose for an impostor, and soon roots them out, there is less to dress, and we cut through the dancing.
Och, I'm not blaming anyone, it's me who interviews most folks to the death, reading every white lie as it comes. Can't help it, more's the pity.
But now retired, I am happiest limiting my day to day doings investing mostly in those with whom I love - all said and done, aren't they always the easiest ones for us to blindly forgive?
