When we arrive, son’s and daughters

We’ll make our homes, on the waters

We’ll build our walls aluminum!

We’ll fill our mouths with cinnamon, now

Yum…… or, ouch.  Mmmmmm…. or, choke-spit-ack-slobber-sputter….. whatever…. trying to imagine what it would be like to have  a mouth FULL of cinnamon…. this thought could conger images either way……. magical and childlike…. or horrible and dried like in the corners of your mouth…..  i think it was meant to unravel the latter………..

Singing along to that song…….Trying to remember the moment earlier this afternoon when I fiddled with my sweater…… fiddled with the corner of my sweater while stopped at a stoplight in my car.  Soft black corner, over and over with my thumb and forefinger…. eased it back and forth, kneading with my thumb and forefinger the way i used to with my satin cornered blanket…… kneading soft sweater fiber……moment lasting only briefly……. made me remember me….. made me remember that I am who I am…. always…………

More later on the cinnamon, during a more articulate moment……..

And……more on the number 35…. the number of this post…. and the age…. which has always igged me out…….

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