Happy Trials . . . . er. . . I mean Trails . . .

One of my favorite movie speeches of all time 

is from the movie City Slickers. 
  

It's in the scene where a depressed Billy Crystal
is visiting his son's classroom on career day
to talk about his (dead-end) job and he says this:

"Value this time in your life kids, because this is the time in your life when you still have your choices, and it goes by so fast. When you’re a teenager you think you can do anything, and you do. Your twenties are a blur. Your thirties, you raise your family, you make a little money and you think to yourself, “What happened to my twenties?” Your forties, you grow a little pot belly, you grow another chin. The music starts to get too loud. One of your old girlfriends from high school becomes a grandmother. Fifties you have a minor surgery. You’ll call it a procedure, but it’s a surgery. Sixties you have a major surgery, the music is still loud, but it doesn’t matter because you can’t hear it anyway. Seventies, you and the wife retire to Fort Lauderdale, start eating dinner at two o'clock in the afternoon, lunch around ten, breakfast the night before..."

We've laughed at this speech for years,
but like a lot of things related to aging, in some ways it's not so funny anymore?!  Because every time we go out to dinner we look around and say, "Oh -- we're here with the old people."  And then inevitably one of us notices that it is only about 4:30pm, which explains it, and we say,
"Maybe we should just order breakfast."   






And never mind that my dining habits are in line with the 70-year-olds -- somehow now I seem to have skipped the rest of my 40's and zipped into my 50's, and I'm starting to become way too experienced at having "procedures."

Yes, that's what we're going to call it, even though technically I think the hospital is calling it a surgery. Since they did such a brilliant job with my arm, I've decided to give them a crack at fixing my nose, in hopes that I'll be able to breathe again.  I'm not sure exactly when I stopped being able to breathe, but it was sometime in my 30's and . . . I've sorta missed it. 

Unfortunately, they're not going to do anything about the aesthetically-challenged, slightly disproportionate aspects of my nose.  Proud as I am to take after Aunt Lillie, it is not cause for celebration in every area of life and her nose was not the quality I most aspired to.  By about 8th grade, however, it became apparent that it had come along in the same gift bag with many of her good genes, and after a few years of chafing against my misfortune, I made friends with it and now I guess it's just me.




If the surgeon does, however, happen to have an OOPS! moment in which he shaves off an unplanned inch or two, I won't necessarily complain as long as he doesn't make it look WORSE.  (For a person who is already nose-challenged, that fear is perhaps even greater than the one experienced by the artist who lets a surgeon go after her precious left arm.)  

Anyway, that's what's on my agenda tomorrow.  

How about yours? Any root canals scheduled?
  

Anything fun in the works for your week?

If I could, today I think I would figure out how to just jump into this picture 

and ride off into the sunset, maybe rope some cows with Jack Palance...

I've been working on a stitched version in hopes that perhaps it could happen,
but as you can see, I haven't gotten very far yet.

Oh well -- at least I know she can't go without me....

(I think I'll wait to put the face on until after they get done playing with mine tomorrow...)

Happy Monday!