Plenty More Where That Came From

Tipping the aspirin into my hand, I accidentally let 1 fall into the sink. I tried to retrieve it, but it had already slipped down the drain. “Oh well,” I thought. “I have this huge bottle. There are plenty more.” But when that bottle is nearly empty, I won’t be so casual about the loss of a pill here or there. It’s the same with anything we value. If we know we have plenty more where that came from, who cares if you lose some? Take money for instance. It’s easy to be generous when your wallet is full. It’s tempting to spend freely when you have plenty of money.

But what about our days in this life? Each time I let 1 slip down the drain, wasting it, I can’t be sure there are plenty more. It’s good to think of that when I make decisions about what to do or not do with each day as they come.

Return of the Lawn Mowers

It must be spring. The lawn mowers have roared into life. It’s very cold and windy, so I thought spring hadn’t come yet. It’s dark when I get up in the morning. When I took a walk today, I had to wear a coat, hat, and gloves. I’m still wearing black shoes and carrying a black purse. Kids are still in school. And yet, the lawn mowers are roaring. They weren’t snow shovels or leaf blowers. they were lawn mowers. I heard 3 today at 3 separate times. But I also heard birds having a party in my back yard and throughout the neighborhood. I heard kids bouncing a basketball. It’s not that I’m not ready for spring. I’ve had enough of hats and coats and gloves and keeping the house shut up with the furnace running. I still have to plant my hearty spring flowers in the window boxes. But I’m not quite ready for lawn mowers. I’m sure the guys who mow my lawn will be here by the end of the week. They’ll want to start collecting their $25 a pop as soon as it’s acceptable. My grass has just begun to turn green, and soon the little shoots will be sheared off. It’s lawn mower season all right. But’ this is Ohio. what did I expect in March?

Does this dress make me look fat?

Do you have a dress in your closet that you pine over? I do. It’s a gorgeous burgundy sheath, slit up to the knee on the left, form-fitting with narrow straps, with a bolero jacket that lends elegance as well as modesty. Seventeen years ago, I wore this dress in my daughter’s wedding.

I had scoured the city for an appropriate dress, but I refused to wear the tents in boring colors that were shown as mother-of-the-bride dresses. I understood that the mother is to wear beige and blend into the wallpaper, but that just wasn’t going to happen in this wedding. Fortunately, my daughter agreed. I am a small woman, so when I tried on these flowing ensembles, they looked like nightgowns on me. I was not going to wear a nightgown to my daughter’s wedding.

Her colors were burgundy and pink, and while burgundy is my color, I didn’t want to compete with the bridesmaids. Did I really want to wear pink? A pink nightgown? When we finally spotted the perfect dress, it was burgundy. But my daughter assured me that it wouldn’t look like I was trying to be another bridesmaid. I have to admit that I looked like a million bucks in that dress, especially when one guest remarked to his wife that I reminded him of Audrey Hepburn!

I felt like her too, head held high, shoulders back, tummy tucked in, and enjoying every minute of that regal walk down the aisle.

Now, when I notice that dress, hanging in the back of the closet, I lift the hanger, caress the shiny fabric, and am transported back to that joyous day. Could I still fit into this slim little number? I use it as a measure of weight control. If I could still wear the dress, then I’m doing all right.

With cautious hope, I slip it off the hanger, slide the long zipper down the back, and step into it. Carefully, holding my breath, I manage to pull it up over my hips without ripping the zipper. Good. I slip the straps over my shoulders. Now for the test. I slowly zip it up the back, and I am relieved that it closes without too much strain over my midriff. With some trepidation, I pull it all the way up the back. I’ve made it! But could I actually wear it? If I kept my stomach pulled in, held my breath all evening, did not sit down, and did not eat a bite of food, I might. The goal is set. Five more pounds, and I’m Audrey again.