The Secret of Happiness is To Make Others Believe They Are The Cause of It ~ al batt ~

Right. I've been systematically Mrs. Grumpy McGrumpster-Pants on my last few posts here and, in thinking about it, that really isn't like me. It doesn't feel right on the insides either. My whole entire self-being is affected and that makes me even worse off than I was just being cranky.

So, like a duck, I'm just going to shake off my tired cranky pants and . . . . . . wait . . . . . .or is it a dog that shakes off fleas?

Whatever it may be that animals do in shaking the tree, I think I have a post here that will make you smile. Maybe. At least I hope it will. Without further ado. . . .

I made lunch for myself today. The husband is working; I'm not trying to not feed him as he doesn't need to become more and more like Skeletor each and every day that he is. He's not here, so I can't feed the masses. And, no, the husband is not "The Evil Lord of Destruction" or from another dimension either - he's a bike racer. Which qualifies him as a skinny leetol rascal; like Skeletor. Okay?

Digression is a disease of which I'll never be quite cured of. . . . .

Anyway, I made me a sandwich. And you need to understand that my sandwiches are usually elaborate, because I love my veggies, herbs and mustard between two pieces of bread. I'm good at creating melty-mouth sandwich goodness, but keeping it real. I am. You know, for health purposes. Since I'm not a huge mayo fan, I don't use it much, if at all. I like my heart. I like me. I like my life. I'd like to be around here for another decade or two. Vegetables can offer more flavor-flave than mayo can and . . . . .

I am not digressing!

Pfffft. Whatever.

As I was saying. . . . I've even put cold green beans and asparagus on my sandwiches. Those were go-ooood.

But today, as I was putting my sandwich together with mustard and turkey - thinking of all the fixings I was going to tackle - when I stopped and looked at my bag of potato chips*. . . . . . . I got a fleeting thought and grabbed onto it. . . . . . .

Where I then proceeded to mash them into my turkey sandwich with the crush of double fiber wheat bread under my palm.

I haven't done that since I was a wee kid. It made me unbelievably happy! I even smiled the whole way through my sandwich thinking of the days when my mom made us sandwiches and then we'd crush potato chips into them. My sandwich today wasn't as good as when I remembered as a kid, but it made me remember some happy times. We'd sing at lunch - "Yellow Submarine" was a popular tune back then. We'd babble on and on about a whole lot of nothing. I loved being with my mom and bringing her buckets of worms I'd dug up and out of the forest. She wasn't fond of them, but she never told me that nor did she ever mention not to bring her buckets of worms. She used to take us to the forest to draw. I'd eventually wander off to go catch her some more worms of wonder. We'd come back and eat sandwiches. I was so little. I was such a happy-go-lucky kid.

Come to think of it, I miss those times. If my mom lived in my state or I in hers, I'd bring her a bucket of worms.





What haven't you done since you were a wee one? Do you miss it?

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*Um. . . . . So, my chips aren't really chips. They're "Baked Ruffle Cheddar & Sour Cream" flavored pieces of cardboard. I can't totally eat like I was 7-years-old even if my knee looks like I am 7-years-old (yep. Still healing from my bike crash from back in the day. Want a picture?) Baked chips. Hmmm. Must. Watch. Waistline.

Was this cheating on feeling like a kid again?