Optimism, Where Art Thou Optimism.

Being the type of person I am, I usually I have a deep well of optimism.

These days it has been harder to retrieve a bucket or two of it from the depths.  I guess the events of this summer kicked me even harder than I thought. 

My blog is real, I don't sugar coat things, don't put on a happy face when things are far from happy.  It is tough for me to be "fake". Others can do it well, but I am really about authenticity.    

Like Forrest said, "Life is like a box of chocolates"....

But, that quote really only holds true if there is a chance that some jackass has put in a little dollop of dog shit in one of those little crinkly plastic compartments.  

Avoiding those and those chocolates contaminated by that turd is about the best we can strive for.   

 I know I might get an orange cream (which I don't exactly find tasty) or some bizarre nougat that I am are not sure I like or hate...but damn if I don't get a tainted chocolate once and awhile....and this summer I wasn't diligent enough and managed to sink my fingers into a turd.

I didn't eat that turd, though, unlike Divine in that John Water's flick "Pink Flamingos".

How am I aware of that film? I naively saw it when I was in my early 20s, a friend telling me it was a classic.   Believe me, with after sight being 20/20, I'd rather not have seen it.  But, I did...and images I wish were not etched in my mind are now there...some fading, oh so thankfully fading.

Anyway, though it felt I was being force fed that turd of an experience, I battled back, and ended up basically on top....that is, my property is still mine...or, rather, mine with shared custody of it with the bank and my ex. 

But the emotional scent of that event still lingers, affecting the work and accomplishments I have had since then.  Just have to get it faded farther out of my head, I guess. 

I am hoping sooner than later it becomes solely another chapter I have to write for my autobiography, and not a recurring memory that makes me wary of trying other chocolates. I need a fresh box to choose from, perhaps.  

 But, that is what going forward with the business is about, isn't it? 

Getting access to that fresh box, being there when the wrapper is taken off and being offered some from that full box, guaranteed no turds included. I might accidentally grab an orange cream or that weird nougat... but, you know, I am beginning to appreciate some of the flavours I was not so fond of.  

Sometimes you need to be just being happy to get offered some fresh chocolates in the first place.

Just An Old Picker

I have been picking and dealing in "old stuff" for a long time, and I vividly recall that recently I was the "young gun" in the crowd; the youngest at every function, antiques show (etc) that I went to.

 However, I was awoken to a fact not long ago...

Rudely awoken, you could say.

I am only 44, by the way...well, ok, I admit, I am almost 45.

It came by way of a eyebrow raising moment a couple weeks ago.

I stopped in at a thrift shop while I was in Winnipeg a few weeks ago, and after doing my tour of the place, I had managed to find a few goodies.

I brought my purchases up to the sales counter which I knew totalled $5, and set them in front of the cashier.

The cashier tapped away on the register, and I was told by the smiling 60+ year grey haired lady behind the counter that the total was $4.00.

When I politely pointed out that the total was actually $5.00 the dear old gal behind the counter smiled and said:

 "Its Senior's Day."

 It took me a stunned second to realize that she had given me the "senior's discount."

I guess I need to look at it in a good light. So, I have decided that I have earned every one of my grey hairs, so perhaps getting a senior's discount 20 years sooner than I should is my reward.

Every buck counts, right?

Maybe I need to save those bucks up for some hair dye....