” Women don’t age as gracefully as men.” , said Ruth.
” You’ve aged well.”
” No, I haven’t. I’m fat,
my skin looks like an elephant’s and
I’m about as attractive as wet cardboard box.”
“Men still pine for you.”
“What men? Sal? He’d pine for an orangutan.
Viagra has drained all the blood from his brain.”
If nothing else Ruth is ruthlessly honest.
One measure of 4/4 followed by one of 3/4.
The beat missing creates a loping anticipation.
It’s oddly natural and easy to feel.
Maybe it comes from our ancient past.
When we ran through the fields to keep the beat.
Jogging with a cardiac rhythm.
Hearing the drums beating
in the wind of our breath.
Mickey’s at it again, dreaming about music and meter.
It’s what brings him joy.
And joy’s been a bit sparse as of late.
In our family we only had one dog name.
At one time, our grandparents and us both had dogs named Homer.
It’s very efficient.
You only have to give one command.
And call one name.
The dogs don’t care.
As long as you feed them, love them and don’t make them wear the same outfits.
It was Ruth’s idea.
Why waste energy having to remember more than one dog name?
Keep it simple, stupid.