The unvoiced thoughts and ideas of a septegenarian.


on April 19, 2012



You would be justified to think I was an odd-ball, a little loony, if I told you I’d rather have dirt or bread dough under my fingernails than diamonds on my fingers. It’s true – I would.


I  couldn’t  plant  pots of perky petunias and grinning geraniums without playing in the dirt. I couldn’t dig a hole and plant a rose bush or sunny sunflowers without getting dirt under my fingernails. I couldn’t sink my hands into a bowl of risen dough and snack on warm bread dipped in honey if my fingers bore diamonds. Earthy gifts are those, together with going fishing rather than to a movie, walking in a forest instead to diving to a shopping mall.


It isn’t just dirt and dough either. I sometimes think my fingers are not attached to my body – they have minds of their own and often escape from the hands they are attached to. I recognize how silly that sounds but the fact is that when I am writing, my fingers frequently just go on and on and on – clicking away – and often take me places I hadn’t intended to go. A correspondent calls me Rambling Rosie.


I sometimes think I was born in the wrong century. I’d have been content milking a cow, sitting at a loom, pumping water from a well sitting in front of a huge fireplace writing long letters to those from afar.  I become more convinced of that every time I am technologically challenged, every time I run into a computer glitch, every time I open a box – if I can get it open – and must assemble something.


I don’t for a minute, dispute the value of the computer or of technological progress in any form.  Still, it seems to me, that our attachment to the newest and the latest of electronic toys and labor saving devices often deprives us of the joy of simple activities. When was the last time you laid on the grass and watched the clouds float by overhead?


Put simply, if I was to marry again, I’d be damn sure the man I choose was willing to turn off the TV, walk away from the phone, and come jump in a pond with me. He would never refuse to take a side road rather than an expressway or joyfully kick a pile of autumn’s leaves.  He’d bring home a lost dog instead of a box of chocolates.


And he wouldn’t give a damn if I had dirt under my fingernails.


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Julie Rose



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