Snap

There comes a time when things just change. It's not something traceable, not something clear, not something controllable at all. Without warrant: feelings, thoughts, and emotions just *snap* from what they were to the polar opposite. Whether it's realizing you all of a sudden can't stand liverwurst, that you have a insatiable taste for cottage cheese, or even that you actually detest someone you used to even...love.
These changes go unnoticed in humans, and are therefore unconscious changes that don't affect one's life at all. However, if the individual experiencing said changes is so in tune with the changes that they do in fact recognize them, there can be some odd consequences. Knowing you are changing and there is not a motion you can partake in to stop it can/must be an disconcerting and alarming occurrence.
That's all a part of life. If we all stayed the same person we were at age six, how immature and dull the human race would end up being.

Passenger

I have a high aversion to riding in cars. Preferably, I am the one in control, the road ruler, the driver. When you're the passenger...
you're jostled and
lurched &
tossed
and unexpectedly made tense
by a turn in the road, a lead foot, a sudden brake employment, a raged driver pulling in front of you, a sighting of a cop car, a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants ice cream pit stop, a urgent need for a bathroom or puking site.
I'd much rather be the driver without passengers.

The Cow with the Wow!

The 2nd Annual Dairy Festival was held today in the Village at the Commons, by the old State Hospital in Traverse City. There were at least a few hundred in attendance on this sunny yet cool Sunday. The festival can only get bigger and better!
I arrived around 1pm, missing the parade and the walk out to the prized dairy cow's grave site. However, the vendors were varied, from recycled glass jewelry and hardware, to natural pumpkin seed butter, to martial artist schools, and even falafel and pita. There was a live band, someone and the True Falsettos, none of which sang falsetto...either way, we set up our folding chairs and swatted away the flies, watching kids run around with Moomer's Blue Moon, witnessed a raffle for Doo Dairy Compost, and drinking free un-homogenized chocolate milk.
At 3pm, 5 restaurants competed in a Grilled Cheese Grill-Off. We sampled 4 out of 6 for $5, and picked and voted for our two favorites (spinach and pesto on Bay Bread & The Underground Cheesecake Company's smoked gouda---we also got a slice of their Blueberry Swirl Cheesecake--my oh my). There were coffee sack races, a variety of baby goats and chickens to pet, and a calf named Oscar who sat docile in the shade, having photo after photo being taken of him. The aromas of pulled pork, hot dogs, and waffles cones tempted attendants as they made their way to the various craft tables, demonstrations, and into the wine tasting building.
All in all, this Festival, despite the ill-planned belly dancing with warranted our departure, is one that will hopefully grow and attract more locals and visitors! Maybe it'll rival the Cherry Fest one day.

Sometimes I tend to think ultra-grammatically, just for fun. Today, it was alliterations.

Toby lays like a lion lounging lazily late on the lawn.
Thor throws thrilling things thoroughly throughout Thursdays.
Hannah heats hamburgers handily hereto hasten hankerings.
Mom must meander meaningfully amidst millions of mindless, much-money, Michigan mansions.
Summer squelches squash sewn sadly in soppy, stinky, sub-par sandy squares.

This is how my brain works...bizarre,  I know~

ode to an old pj shirt

PJ shirt, oh PJ shirt, how we have grown together---you stretched, and ripped, and grew holes like Swiss cheese, and I grew taller and out of the child's section at Old Navy, where we first met. At first you were not a PJ shirt, no; rather, you were a lavender, or maybe lilac (which is more pink that purple) camisole I wore under sweaters, black sweaters; a shirt my sister once was envious of, or maybe mocking, but one she inquired about our relationship standing outside in the driveway, as we were ready to board the car on the way to a dinner party. I paired you with a hideous cool-hued scarf, though I'm not sure where this was on my body, but I know I wore it along with you.
Oh PJ shirt. When was it that you were dubbed no longer fit for everyday clothes and dubbed a sleeping article? Do you remember? I do not. Your twin, in pink, is still lost at sea (or at Lindsay Little's house), and you are soon to be thrown away. You've seen my tears, and felt my sweat; your tender, thin straps dug into my shoulders in restless nights of non-sleep once they rid themselves of thread and strangely did not disintegrate. You bear the marks of fabric well washed----fading, thin patches, drooping thread count. Alas, we shall not be together much longer, for you embarrass me with your XL girls' section tag and your failure to match any pajama pants I own.
We've been through much, old PJ shirt. You're destined for the dump....but maybe I'll fold you into a box and refer to this ode once a year.