America, Send Me Your Fruitcake

Gourd Fruit by Andrea Jansen

Unfortunately, I can’t blame childbearing on the current state of my body.  I wish I could go back to thinking of Orange Peel simply in terms of fruitcake, which I happen to love.  Whenever I see holiday commercials about the traveling fruitcake, I long to be the lucky recipient; but I also loved airline food when it was provided, eating things in the air I’d never touch on the ground (i.e., date nut bread with cream cheese).  I used to ask my neighbors for their untouched leftovers; my boss always sat somewhere distant on business trips.

So I decided to start deep knee-bends instead of reaching down to pick up BC’s ball.  Let me clarify:  her PLAY ball.  Someone once recommended I purchase some plastic apparatus, arm’s length, with a scoop at one end to easily pick up the dog’s toy.

Come on.  Unless there’s a physical reason NOT to, I’m all for getting the exercise.  Walking and playing with my dog is the only workout I get, one reason I keep trying to get Mom to adopt a pet.  They inject life into a person, it’s true.

I also religiously walk my shopping cart back to the parking lot corral.  Sometimes I even grab one on the way in, tossing my purse to get the weight off my shoulder, and lean on the front bar.

That may defeat the purpose, but that’s my rationalization.  Snickers bar with a Diet Pepsi.  Libra; the balance.

Threatening landscape

I can’t afford to be any lazier than I already am.  Hoping this outdoorsy lifestyle will whip me into shape, I long to be an American Crocodile Dundee, but I just can’t get over my fear of snakes.  It took me three days to garner enough nerve to walk BC down an overgrown lane, here in the RV park in Southern Oregon.  I’m too embarrassed to post a photo.  When I mentioned my reluctance to meet vermin and reptiles, the camp hosts laughed and said they’ve seen a rabbit and a few deer in their time, but that’s about it.

Born in Queens, NYC, what can I say?  My parents didn’t take us camping.  I can only think of one childhood friend who did, I assumed, since her parents owned a station wagon.  I was once invited along for a day trip. The ride in the back of the wagon was thrilling, anticipating the wilds of Chesequake Park, Monmouth County, New Jersey, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that imminent danger lurked under every leaf.

I still can’t.  But BC and I have walked that overgrown path a dozen times now, and while I still look, so far nothing has threatened us, knock on wood.  Each day, as my confidence increases, I am able to look around and take notice of things, like the strange phenomenon I witnessed this morning.  I still don’t understand it, but the ripple of the water was reflected on the limbs of the Ponderosa Pine trees along the shoreline.  I stared; shouldn’t it be the other way ‘round?

It's a good thing I did not breed.