Nina Lewis

A storm is in the forecast for today.  Do I care?  Not one little bit.

In less than 2 hours, we’ll be heading off for our annual fun-in-the-sun get-away.  This year’s destination is Fiji.

It’s so much like Tahiti why are you going to Fiji? you ask.  You’ve already be to Tahiti — twice!

Why not go? I reply.

My goal is to visit as many of the tropical places in paradise as I can — before Alzheimer’s sets in.  Or before my body goes kaput (more than it already has).

While yes, Fiji and Tahiti share the same South Pacific ocean location, and yes, they are both tropical paradises, and yes we had to sell off our first born to afford to go there, they are different cultures, different histories, different cuisines, different things to see.

As I bask in the sun, play in the sea, and frolic on the beach, I shall think of you, Dear Reader, who is stuck in the daily grind of normal life wherever you are in the world.  (Except for you, Julianne.  You live in a tropical place so you don’t count!)

A moment of silence for all of the rest of my readers.

Au revoir.

I lead the music for the children’s meeting at my church.  Yesterday, we sang one song where there was lot’s of action — stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down, twirl around, sit down, stand up.  The closest chair to use within my reach was a Baby Bear sized chair.  Which meant that all of the up-and-down-and-back-up-again was like doing deep knee bends.  In high heels.  Over and over and over.

I should have gotten a Papa Bear sized chair.

As I walk down the stairs today, my knees have a little conversation with me. “Heh, heh, heh!  Doesn’t this feel grand?  All of these muscles that you haven’t used in years that you used intensely yesterday.  Stiff and sore.  Stiff and sore.  Let’s do more — deep knee bends.”

I reply, “Ugh!  I can hardly move.  This is PAIN-FULL.  Why did I have the children sing that so much?  What in the world was I thinking? I’m never going to do that again!”

I want to sit in a hot tub and soak my soreness away.

Then, I saw this movie clip.  I told my knees to shut up and watch.  They were amazed.  So was the rest of the body.  I had to go lay down for 3 hours afterward because I got stiff and sore just watching this movie!  Pay close attention to it — especially to the part where one girl is in a hayloft bending over to get an apple.

I can do what these girls do.  I can do all of those feats.  Really.  I can.

Wait.  Who am I kidding?  I can’t even bend over and touch my toes. But I do think I could sing the Solid Potato Salad song!  And that’s because I am so solid after eating all of my mother’s delicious potato salad.

Enjoy!

Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream.  I have a question.

That question is: where does the make-up go by 5:00 p.m. that I so artistically apply at 6:00 o’clock in the wee hours of the morning?  Huh?  Inquiring minds want to know.

I gently apply foundation.  I whisk on a delicate layer of blush.  I artfully line my eyes.  I apply highlight colors to my brow bone, mid-tones to my eyelid, and darker accent colors to the creases in  my eyelid.  I brush on mascara to make my eyes look bold and daring.  I finish by adding a succulent defining lip color.  (Actually, I usually say I swab the decks but that doesn’t sound very sophisticated . . .)

When I leave the bathroom, my eyes sparkle with light.  My complexion glows.  I’m off for a great day at work.

When I trudge home at 6:00 p.m., nary a sign of make-up can be found on my face.  It’s back to the blah, boring, brown-ness of me.  Where did all that color go?

Did the ‘ugly’ fairies swing by rappel lines from my eyebrows with rags in their little hands to scrub off my eye shadow?  Do they skate across my cheekbones with buffing cloths wrapped around their feet to remove all traces of blush and foundation?  Do they take hammer and chisel to chip off my mascara?

Do they spray cans and cans of ‘naturalizer’ onto my face to bring out every freckle, pimple, and blemish that I so craftily hid with concealer?  Do they use Harry Potter’s invisiblity cloak to hide the make-up so that everyone see the real me instead?

You, my Dear Reader, would probably tell me that my skin absorbs my make-up.  To that, I say hogwash.

If you spill red Kook-Aid on white carpet, the carpet absorbs the Kook-Aid.  But you can still see the red punch.

If I splash grape juice from my sippie cup at breakfast onto my white corporate blouse and I wipe off the grape juice, you can still see the purple blotch on my blouse because it has absorbed the grape juice.

When my children wear white socks while jumping off red sand dunes in Moab, no amount of bleach or Tide will make them white because the socks have absorbed that Moab sandstone red-ness into the very fiber of their being.

So, once again I ask:  Where does my make-up go by the end of the day?

By the way, wrinkled was not one of the things I wanted to be when I grew up . . .

I’ve told you that I am reading a book about the Constitution of the United States.  So, the definition of a republic and the definition of democracy has been rolling around in my brain. The words and the intentions of our Founding Fathers walk and talk to me during my daily routine.

And I see how America is heading in a direction that they were so strongly against.

I got a link to this movie in my e-mail today.  The movie is powerfully done.  I thought I’d share it here.  It’s well worth the five minutes it takes to watch.

So. I’m reading a document.  Skimming, actually.  Words jump out at me — like they always do.  When new words jump, I jump, too.  I jump and grab them by the waist and twirl them around and around in joy.  Then I place them gently in my brain where hopefully the will take up residence — or at least stay for an extended visit. I heart new words.

But I’m not sure about the words from this document.  Words like prokaryotic and eukaryotic, endosymbiotic theory of eukaryotic evolution, catabolism, anabolism, and phosphorylation reaction.

If I say catabolism and anabolism quickly they make me think of cannibalism.  But I don’t think that’s what they are really talking about.  Cannibalism — that’s just what these words do when trying to niggle their way into my brain.

These words are in English.  I recognize and understand the letters that make up the words.  I can even pronounce them (the words) . . probably.  Do I have any idea whatsoever about their meaning?  Not in the least.

Those words shake their fists in the air, stomp their feet, and yell obscenities at me because I am so ignorant about them.  I slam the door shut and lock them out.  I don’t want those ugly words wamboling around trying to get entrance to my brain.  I don’t want them there at all!

Why?  Because they are science words.  Words that are of no use to me.  Words that I never encounter except in rare and random sightings.  I’m so glad.  Science words, you go that-a-way.  I’m going to head off in this direction.  Far, far, far away from you.

On the other hand, I understand sesquipedalian, cacology, rodomontade, neologism, and macroverbumsciolists.  These words wrap their arms lovingly around my soul and whisper sweet nothings in my ear.  I welcome them into my cognitive dwelling place known as my brain.

Why?  They are words that I will use.  Words that I will meet and greet on the street of my literary perusals.  Words that bring me joy.  Good words.  Useful words.

I’ll just put that document down and carefully back away from it lest it taint my brain.  One would never want that to happen, now would one?