Random Musings

Last week when I filled up the car with gas, I walked through what I thought was a mud puddle. It turned out to be a gas puddle.

I soaked the bottoms of my good sneakers in Dawn dish washing liquid and in white vinegar before I could stand to put them back on. I walked up and down the streets of Fincastle in them on Saturday and now they smell like asphalt and old apples.

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Every year I lose a pair of scissors. I don't know where they go. Since I never find them again I guess they must somehow get up on their little pointy ends and tiptoe out of the house. I imagine them running down the driveway, breathless, trying to escape from the evil paper-cutting woman inside who dulls their edges.

Maybe then they make their way to some halfway house for escaped utensils and tools, where they hide out with an assortment of screwdrivers, hammers and silverware. Because they certainly are not here.

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One of my friends (and a fellow blogger) and I have a great deal in common, from birthdays that are close to the cancer that took our mothers. She recently had surgery and has reported that she will have a large scar on her chest when the opening heals.

I have had a large scar on my chest since I was five years old. Weird!