As old as dirt
Some days, I feel “as old as dirt”. Still working on the why, but it seems to coincide with anniversaries. It’s a human foible; a year is not like a day. We can handle Monday transitioning to Tuesday. Moving across a calendar volume (completely) puts a wobble on our spin. By the time such things go unnoticed, I will be as old as dirt.
Came across a legend, from the culture that set me up. Check this one out:
According to myth, the gods of Old Ireland worried that the country’s misty skies would make its people forget the stars above. So, they drew maps of the galaxies on everyone’s cheeks – in the Irish language, briciní, or “little stars;” in English, “freckles.”
Now that the local police have discovered social media, we get little tidbits of information important to our welfare. In today’s capsule, an admonition to “not wear headphones while running on the road”. OK. One more reason to never break into something quicker than a slow canter. Note: unsure if that was the correct word, I looked it up.
Canter: a three-beat gait of a horse or other quadruped between a trot and a gallop.
Since I don’t have four feet, cantering is impossible. How about “walk like I’m carrying a spoon with an oversized egg”? No, I didn’t try this, at home, but I’m sure it limits the rate of acceleration.
Enough silly stuff. This is a really long day (northern hemisphere dilemma) and although I did go outside, the night will be short in consequence. I wonder if I’m ready for bed, yet?
