I Live With the Seven Dwarfs

Sunday morning.  This morning she was grumpy.  She's adorable when she's grumpy.  That sounds patronizing, I know, but she is adorable when she's grumpy and I told her so, which only made her more so.  Then I realized that I live with and love all seven dwarfs.

Usually, she is either Doc or Happy.  Doc hectors me to floss, "have you called the dermatologist?", "watch out for that car", "don't follow so closely", "that shirt doesn't go with those pants"....  Happy simply lights up the room.

She can be Dopey on occasion, as when the other day she absentmindedly asked "what's the capital of Copenhagen?"  Then she was chagrined, but rarely is she Bashful; more often a pale form one might nickname EssCee (for self-conscious.)

Often in the am, Sleepy appears, especially after a sound nine hours.

Sneezy rarely appears, but such a ladylike Sneezy.  I'm the one that blows the roof off.

We should have Disney's bluebirds flitting about, but I couldn't be any happier than to be living with one of my seven dwarfs, especially on a peaceful Sunday morning in spring.

On Lookin' Good For Strangers

From Sun Valley

Today, near the end of an 11k skate-ski, I approached an elderly (younger than I) couple slowly working up a slight incline on classics.  Since gravity was running in my direction, I was able to straighten up, assume a decent skating rhythm and sail past, rewarded with her admiring look.  So self-satisfied ....   I pledged to myself "today, no falls." No sooner said than my skis went cattywampuss and SPLAT! -- tail over teacups.  Proverbs, 16:18: "Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."  So much for lookin' good for strangers.

Blanche Du Bois said "... whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." The Kindness of Strangers; Tennessee Williams' crystalline phrase rings on in novels and biographies, PhD theses on adoption, rock albums, TV episodes, and the latest -- in Woody Allen's Blue Jasmine.  Well, I'm no Blanche; my spin, I must ruefully admit, is to seek the admiration of strangers.  Weird....

How silly is that -- to suck in my stomach and straighten my shoulders when I enter a room full of strangers.  Even worse, when passing on the street an overweight woman or guy with a gut, neither of whom I will ever see again.  What kind of sorry ego-centrism ...? Do I imagine them thinking "that is a pretty good looking guy for his age"?  Or "Jesus, I have to lose some weight."  Or "isn't he fit"?  Truthfully, yes, I do.  I peer into the narcissistic mirror of my imagination with all the angst of Sleeping Beauty's mother -- "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall...."  How silly is that?  And most likely, they are really thinking -- if at all -- "catch the pompous old geezer."

On the other hand, should I just let my gut go slack, my shoulders slump, slouch along half-shaved , with a stupid, self-satisfied grin, waiting for commitment to the county home for the bewildered?  

No, perhaps narcissism has some social benefit.  Perhaps caring about what others think is a governor on one's manners, grace, politeness.   

But do I strain so to suck it in for friends or family?  Well, not so much as with strangers.  What is that about...?  I care for family; I care what friends think.  On the other hand, I pretty well know what they think.  I can't fool myself into imagining they think something other than what they know me to be.  Resolution: I must discipline myself with family or friends to stand a little straighter and -- more important -- to show my care for them. 

Yes, yes ... but, really, it is so much more satisfying to look good for strangers.