Habits I had hoped to outgrow by age 61.

1.       Daydreams still plague me. My favorite daydream is G-rated:  I am minding my own business in an unlikely setting and somebody ASKS ME FOR MY OPINION.  The rest of the minute/day/ hour/ millennium is spent organizing my thoughts, fine-tuning my response and fielding possible different perspectives and questions.  Subjects range from exciting (cat training, for example or an anecdotal ramble concerning the gears on the English Racer bicycle of my youth) to just plain boring (politics, religion, etc.). I have noted that throughout my wide and superficial acquaintance—and that includes 140 Facebook friends—not one person mentions gear ratios of defunct bicycle companies or cats in the same breath as training. Politics are mentioned dogmatically.  I am basically afraid to air my views.  All the folks who have known me since childhood may come together in a mob of all races, creeds and colors and a few dubious genders to chase this Frankenstein out of town.  So it looks like I’ll be having a great dialog with myself on topics I know intimately for the next 60 years.  In about 15-20 years, I plan start talking to myself loudly and really enjoying my opinions.  By then I’ll be truly invisible to all but my caretakers.

2.      I STILL WANT A HORSE!  Yes, I know that is a stage endured by 12-year-old girls and their families. I know it is a psycho sexual stage that precedes puberty.  I know I wasted some fun years from 10 to 12 rereading the 1936 edition Breeds of Livestock in America which my Midwestern parents had brought to South Florida from Olathe, KS in an obscure attempt to hold onto their own childhoods.  But if you buy me a horse, I’ll do all the work.  You’ll just have to drive me to the stables.  And pay for lessons, vet bills and hay.   Pleeese.  And I want a swimming pool.

3.      Middle-aged Men On Ladders.  (See psycho sexual disclaimer attached to I STILL WANT A HORSE.) I want to thank my Nameless Friend for making me notice how attractive men look when climbing ladders to finish little home projects.  Fellas just look thinner, more muscular with longer legs when perched on, say, the third rung of a Home Depot Tall.   She used to call me so I could time my visits when her husband was painting and otherwise climbing the ladder of…success.  Unfortunately he has taken an out-of-town job probably unrelated to my semi-frequent visits, but I like to think their weekly rendezvous may include the occasional ladder.   My own DH seems to see ladders in a purely practical light:  When I stare at him as he’s trimming trees, he indicates through a subtle use of body language that I should continue my own projects.  Sometimes he just does not get me.   Another disclaimer:  If your partner is not a professional ladder climber, please restrict him to light housekeeping—spider web removal, chandelier dusting, etc.  The higher they go, the more likely those accidents can happen.  You don’t need him out of commission just when weekends are starting to be fun.

4.      Re-examining Basics:  Each night I re-think flossing.  Is it a government conspiracy to create a market for substandard parachute string?  Why and how does it really help? Well, the fact is that there is no downside to regular teeth flossing and time spent examining alternatives is wasted time.  I also wonder if baby shampoo really is milder.  Do multivitamins work? There are many basics—tangible and otherwise—that really don’t need examination.  Just get on with it.

.      Ending Blogs Abruptly:  Now that I have started down the track of re-evaluating flassing, daydreaming about George Clooney climbing a ladder to paint my ceiling after a day spent horsebackback riding and swimming, it's time to end all this speculation and just get on with it.