Running

Ha. You thought I was going to blog about my New Year's resolution to run regularly, didn't you? The running in question belongs to my nose, not my feet. It's a veritable faucet at the moment. Highly unholiday like, don't you think? There I was, enjoying the post-Christmas slowdown. Lazing about. Unblogged. Full of books. Visiting relatives.

Then I get home and, whammo. On the faucet turns and red my nose gets.

So I'm not feeling particularly opinionated or wordy. Don't have the inclination to rage or pontificate, observe or muse. Primarily, I feel like blowing and dabbing. Sitting quietly with my mouth slackly open, breathing, while trying not to drool.

There's something quite ignominious about trying not to drool on one's birthday. Particularly as one (that would be me) gets older and older. 44 today, and that sounds quite old, for some reason. Don't you find that, that some numbers sounds much older than others? Not rational, but there it is, all the same.

Could be that I'm feeling old because my boy child turned into a man yesterday. He's 18, and I'm now the parent of an adult. Legal, able to add one more tally to the Democratic vote count, and Selective Service-eligible. No wonder I feel ill.

It's not only my nose that's leaking. The sky is leaking all over the world. It was leaking on the Rose Parade, for crying out loud. It never rains on the Rose Parade. Not since 1955. The year I marched in it (1982? 83?), it was a beautiful sunny morning. Cool.

I believe that God made it rain on the Rose Parade because She doesn't like it being held on my birthday. It's suppose to be held on January 1st so we can watch it on my son's birthday. Throws the earth off its rotational axis or something when they change it like that.

Don't know what reason God has for making it rain and snow over in Muzaffarabad. A foot of snow in the mountains. Sheets of rain in the valleys. Mudslides from the rains. What more can happen to these people?

And, no, I don't believe God made it rain and snow on them. Just a figure of speech. Nor do I believe God is making my nose run, though I might rant and rave at Her about it if I get to feeling particularly mucus-full.

Have you seen those Mucinex print ads, with the ugly Mucus couple? When Annie was in the hospital for her big asthma episode, we hung up one of those ads, giving her a focus for wellness: get rid of that mucus! It made a very attractive and conversation-provoking wall accoutrement.

Well, now that I've finished running at the mouth, I'll go back to tending my running at the nose. Good to be back, and I'm sure my opinions will return soon, as well.

Until tomorrow,
Liz