The Reproach of Matilda

She’s there every morning, glaring down at me, when I open my eyes.

“If you’re going nowhere, neither is that extra chin”, she seems to say. “I have limits, you know. If we’re to ever get any closer, you should be out there, not hitting the snooze button repeatedly!”

She’s right, of course, my ideal dress size. I breached her boundaries a long time ago and won’t be fitting back in any time soon, unless I get out there and move. Every single day.

“And cut out the champagne while you’re at it, lardarse.”

By my calculations, transforming Matilda’s reproach into rapprochement is about 720 km away.

Ho hum.

The Matilda Dress

 

 

Much Violence, Zero Harm

If I were a voodoo-hoodoo, my more annoying clients might experience the mysterious onset of a headache around 7:30 on a certain week night.

“Do you know why people like violence? It is because it feels good.”

Alan Turing in The Imitation Game

But the only violence I like is the kind that doesn’t hurt anything.

Chu-daiko and Shime-daiko

So Taiko is perfect. Thus far, we’ve learnt the basics of the Miyake and Yatai-bayashi  rhythms, fantastic workouts for the body, brain and voice.

Happiness is…

..walking in the Spring sunshine

Neoplasia

Lexical Blues

Image via http://www.sxc.hu

Words

mastered long ago

now

inexplicable

—-

http://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2012/03/an-opening-against-alzheimers/

Weekly Photo Challenge: Hope

Have had a foot injury since the end of November
so am in hope that I will be back in my golf shoes (actually, any normal shoes would be good)
and walking the golf course again in the not-too-distant future

Rounds in resilience

It’s her little joke –
every round is stroke –
the way she hits that ball
you wouldn’t know she’s had two

bionic man, quadruple
by-passed, defibrillated, has me
in stitches

at 80, his game’s
got more heart
than mine

then, on the 13th,

seasoned traveller
confides myeloma’s no
handicap to chipping
away at the children’s
inheritance

golf’s putting
this stupid game
in perspective

but it ain’t no Sunday
drive

Throwing the Switch

was it the 500,000th
cigarette
that threw the switch,
sent
your light flickering?

i see you bathed in darkness,
no light, no air,
just the rasping
of short-circuitry

Was the timer on before
you were born?
i don’t know…

Maybe the 500,001st
was the nth
of vice,
lights-out for a pulse

If Leibniz were alive, i would
ask him,
but we wouldn’t
share a smoke