Malaising Grace

mal·aise: noun mə-lāz, ma-, -lez

1: an indefinite feeling of debility or lack of health often indicative of or accompanying the onset of an illness
2: a vague sense of mental or moral ill-being <a malaise of cynicism and despair — Malcolm Boyd>

*definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Online

Windmilling on the edge, trying for balance.

Last Monday was more Monday than usual.  I was coming down with a cold; just the beginning drips and tickles that haven’t developed into a full-fledged case of the cruds.  It was at the point where you still hold out hope you can fight it off, but deep-down you know you won’t be able to.  That didn’t help me cope any better with my constant companion of late – the little black cloud I’ve been walking around under.

I’ve been toting around a sack of malaise that sometimes has me teetering on the brink of despair.

Why?  Various reasons.  The health concerns of beloved, aging parents, setbacks at work, worries for my children, angst over the direction our country is taking, etc, etc, etc.

All that stuff is worrying me, it’s true, but it’s not the bottom line.  If I’m being honest, I don’t want to be.  Honest, I mean.  It may be the best policy, but in my case it’s not very flattering, to wit:

The main thing bothering me is the shuffling off of this mortal coil.  The wrinkling, sagging, bagging, decay of the body.  Gaining back some of the weight I recently lost.  The depressing slide from Woman with a capital va-va-voom to Matron.  The where-do-I-go-from-here that comes with being how-the-hell-did-I-get-to-be-53-years old.

In short; it’s a mid-life crisis.

How distressingly cliché.  I know.

I left my office after work that Monday in my sweats, as usual, but no way I was going to the YMCA.  To hell with that workout stuff – why bother?  I didn’t want to go home, either.   I took my crabby self to a local park hoping a walk would clear the mental cobwebs that were clouding my vision of the world.   At the very least it would distract me from the constant temptation to score just a little hit from my favorite pusher – Little Debbie.

I plugged the ear buds into my iPod and started out around the small lake in the park.  It took a ¼ turn before it penetrated my gloom that it was a perfect, early fall day; not cold, not hot.  The trees had turned color suddenly, overnight it seemed.  We woke up one morning and fall color was here with its intense, fleeting display.  I started walking faster.

My favorite song, “Roundabout” , came through my ear buds, filling my head and lifting my spirits.

The sky was still bright at early evening, clear and blue, but the sun had started its descent.  It painted the undersides of the clouds pink and made my shadow a stilt-walker, almost touching the lake.

I built up steam, both legs moving faster.  They did the bidding of my agile brain without conscious thought;  smoothly, easily, chubby thighs, cellulite and all.  My 2 hands clenched, fingers wrinkled, limber and whole.  My arms pumped free and easy despite once-freckles now turned to age-spots.  My breathing sounded loud in my ears, the way it echoes when you’re wearing headphones.  Not harsh or strained, but forceful, evidence that I was walking strong.  My lungs filled and pushed out clear and clean, with no impediment.  My heart pumped: ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum, rhythmic, faster.  I demanded more and it delivered – no problem.

I have:
All of my own teeth – for the most part.  Thank you, modern dentistry.
All my own parts – except for tonsils traded for ice cream in 3rd grade and gall bladder traded for pain relief at 40.  It’s all Factory Original Equipment, too, regardless of what the tabloids may imply.

All those parts were operating together, if not in perfect harmony, then at least in some semblance of cooperation.  This magical, human machine was all systems go and I was in control of it.

53!  It wasn’t too long ago I would have been at the feeble end of life, the oldest crone in the tribe.  People would marvel at my great age as they settled me on an ice floe with a one-way ticket to Valhalla.  And yet, in this day and age, I am just in the middle (ish) with a long way to go, God willing.

I walked around the lake a second time as fast as I could without running.  I strained to use all of my senses to experience my self and the spaces around me and I was filled with contentment.  At the same time, I was ashamed.

I did nothing to earn any of this.  It isn’t deserved.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m not an especially crappy human being, but neither am I an especially saintly one.  There is no rhyme or reason for all the gifts I have.   I can’t understand, and I can’t explain.  All I can do, the very least I can do, is appreciate.

Which brings me to this last part.  It’s kind of a prayer.

Dear God,

Thank you for another ordinary, extraordinary day on your Earth.  Please help me to appreciate every one of them.

Sincerely,

Peg

Advertisements

About pegoleg

R-A-M-B-L-I-N-G-S, Ram...Blin!
This entry was posted in General Ramblings and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

106 Responses to Malaising Grace

  1. bigsheepcommunications says:

    That was really inspiring : ) Any day you’re not set adrift on an ice floe is a good day, right?

    Like

  2. That was very beautiful. It makes me want to go find a lake to walk around!

    Like

  3. mistyslaws says:

    I feel you with the malaise. I am in the depths of a major case of it presently and for a while now. Yet, when I look at the blessings in my life, I am chock full . . . a wonderful husband, fantastic kids, a paying (although hateful) job, all of my working parts (even though they are presently sagging and greying and growing, but still functional), a wonderful family and great friends. I look at these things intellectually and wonder what the hell I have to be so sad and unhappy about. But my brain cannot dispel with logic the feeling of darkness in my heart.

    I am so glad you were able to take account of all the good in your life and see that it outweighs the malaise. Good for you, Peg! Sorry this comment was such a downer. Not my usual snarky cheery self today, I suppose.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Don’t worry about being a downer, Misty. I know just what you mean.

      I often struggle with KNOWING how much I have to thankful for, yet feeling discontent. (Disconnected? Malcontent? Malcolm in the Middle?) I’m trying to remind myself to count my blessings, as I am sure you do as well.

      Yet that is not to downplay or downgrade your feelings or mine. We may feel a bit guilty for having them, but they’re very real. We have a right to experience them and sometimes even wallow in them. We just have to make sure to watch for the undertow in the self-pity pool.

      ’nuff psychobabble. Have a good day, OK?

      Like

  4. egills says:

    I could do with your lake right now….

    Like

  5. notquiteold says:

    Excellent essay – and the best blog title ever!

    Like

  6. You had me singing it right along with you! Sing it, girl! (And–I won’t annoy you with those musical notes.)

    Like

  7. I’ve been feeling a bit down this last week or so. I was telling my partner about it and he asked what I had to feel down about when I had so many good things like blah blah blah (you know, good stuff). I didn’t have an answer about anything specific I was down about, but I pointed out to him how many rich and famous people often talk of being depressed, when on the surface they appear to have it all. And…where was I going with this? Lots of things to feel good about…not as may things to feel bad about…there was a point to this somewhere…

    Like

  8. Al says:

    Beautifully written and a heartfelt piece on something we all go through from time to time. Having said that, may I remind you that your real purpose in life is to keep ME upbeat, entertained and laughing with your blog so please, no more introspection.

    Like

  9. wait until you get to 59 yrs – trust me… it’s not so far away…

    Like

  10. As I sit here on my heating pad because a yoga move basically broke my left butt cheek, I hear ya, Peg…

    Like

  11. dorannrule says:

    This is a fabulous post! It says all we feel at various milestones in our lives and all we hope to pull ourselves up and out of the blues. “Honestly” you have captured it beautifully.

    Like

  12. Wow, Peg… this is so sincere… I almost feel as though I’ve been completely de-snarked! And that’s not an easy thing to do, believe me!
    I think I know how you feel, though… I usually have (at least) a mid-week crisis. But when you stop to think about how lucky we really are… all the truly incredible things that we can take for granted at times… yeah. There’s a lot of really, really good stuff to be thankful for.

    Like

  13. Averyanne says:

    Wonderful essay, wonderful photo. AND….just goes to prove that gratitude is the best attitude!!

    Like

  14. Go Jules Go says:

    This is wonderfully written and very moving, Peg! “…made my shadow a stilt-walker” – WOW. I feel like I was at the lake with you.

    And I agree with Nancy – amazing post title, too!

    Like

  15. Spectra says:

    I guess I must admit, this made me smile, even chuckle to myself a bit… reading about someone elses inner turmoil, particularly the freckles turning into age spots – I take photos for my artsy products, and have to cut and reframe the pics when I see an oversized ‘freckle’ on my hand. And a good, hard walk out there in such a refreshing atmosphere really gets those endorphins pumping, and shifts our perspective and feelings upwards. Which I myself desperately need to get out and do, too! Weight gain is always depressing. It’s just so much work, getting older! Braghhh!

    A pleasure to just read this, your style really shines here.

    Like

  16. Audrey says:

    Beautiful! Love the perspective shift, the energy, the passion. It’s catching and inspiring!

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Thanks Audrey. I’m mainly trying to inspire myself to GET OVER MYSELF.

      Like

      • k8edid says:

        Oh, man….I keep telling myself to get over myself. I am going to grab my camera and see if I can’t replicate the stilt-legs – I have the shortest chubbiest legs on earth!!

        Every time I find myself wallowing or sliding toward the dark side, I get smacked up side the head with a glimpse of a gorgeous sunset, the trill of a songbird, a photo of a healthy grandchild, or a loving gaze from either my dog or my husband – whomever happens to be home at the time. Your words resonated with me. There is much to be grateful for. And I am jealous of your fall color and cooler temps…

        Like

        • pegoleg says:

          Maybe we’re bad for not erupting into spontaneous gratitude all the time, but at least we’re still trying to light that fuse, right Katy? And you have every right to be jealous- it’s gorgeous here this week. Wish you could experience it.

          Like

  17. Lenore Diane says:

    I chime in with the others, “Malaising Grace” is a clever title.
    I commend you for sitting down and writing this post. I hope the post, along with the walk, helped to part the clouds that hang overhead. And, I hope this burst of brightness helps to motivate you even further. One step at a time…

    Like

  18. Elyse says:

    There is nothing like a walk, outside, in the fresh air to lift my spirits, either Peg. It’s where I find the answer to just about every problem that has a solution.

    Great post, great title.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Thanks Elyse. That is so, so true for me, even more so as I get older. There’s an old Three Dog Night song, Out In The Country, that really resonates.

      Like

      • pegoleg says:

        Why, oh why, do I lack the rudimentary skills to figure out how to make this YouTube share appear right?

        Like

      • Tar-Buns says:

        I don’t even have to go to the link – Three Dog Night’s song, Out In The Country is one of my ALL TIME FAVORITES! Play it at my funeral OK?
        Loved your post. You really hit a nerve. Changing seasons and shorter days seem to bring out the malaise in me. Too bad it’s raining so I can’t go for a walk. But, I did go back to work today. And Mom came through surgery in good shape from what I’ve heard so that’s all good news. 🙂

        Like

        • pegoleg says:

          I love that song, too. I found it on YouTube, then they kept showing related songs in the right-hand column. I spent the afternoon reconnecting with Three Dog Night, Boz Scaggs, Todd Rungren.

          I called Mom late the night before last and she joked about playing a certain song at her funeral and I said “really, what songs would you like?” Probably not the right mood to set for someone right before she undergoes life saving/threatening surgery. They’d already given her a sleeping pill so she was fading and couldn’t think of any.

          Like

  19. Peg, I have goosebumps. I loved the refreshing honesty of your words. They really resonate with so many of us. Beautiful and true. Really, one of my favorite posts of yours.

    I am always torn between feeling grateful to feeling guilty. Trying to appreciate the positives to trying hard not to concentrate on the negatives. It’s a process. I’m not sure it’ll ever end in this lifetime. I suppose in the end, it’s the embracing of all things in life, the good and bad. It all makes us who we are. And something about the fall season really moves me. The dying of the leaves is so symbolic. Really stirs my soul in ways I can’t put into words. (as well as you did!) Anyway, I hope you can continue to look at the bright beautiful leaves and breathe it all in and savor the fact that you are here, right now. That’s all that matters.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      I think you’re right, Darla. It’s something about the changing of the seasons. The leaves are so beautiful, but they’re beautiful because they’re dying – makes you think. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who struggles with this shiz.

      Like

  20. SocietyRed says:

    Right there with you Peg. Some days/weeks are like that. I just turned 55. When I got my tonsils out they promised ice cream but gave me jello…JELLO! I never got over that.
    Hope you kick that cold soon!

    Like

  21. That Little Debbie is bad news, man. Bad, bad news.

    I’ve been there lately, too and from reading just a few comments, it sounds like a lot of us have. This morning was sunny and a little warmer and even when I was stuck in traffic, it wasn’t so bad. I tried to convince myself to file that moment away to remind myself on the cold and rainy days that the sunnier, warmer days will return, metaphorically and otherwise.

    And then I laughed at what a load of bull I was feeding myself. Not that the sunnier, warmer days will return (I know they will), but that I’ll remember that on the colder, rainy days. I probably won’t.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Load of bull is right. I keep kicking “me”, mentally, to just SNAP OUT OF IT. But then “myself” starts in on the mental list of the many ways life has done “I” wrong and, next thing you know, we’re back under the cloud. Pathetic.

      Like

  22. I heartily agree with all the commentors, and especially with you. 53 has been my toughest year by far, and 54 scares the hell out of me. My malaise is tempered with an unhealthy dose of panic. Panic that I haven’t done enough, that my potential to do more is spiralling down the drain along with my looks and my physique. Panic that opportunity will knock less and less.

    Thanks for your honesty and candor.

    Like

    • Don’t worry, Mr. 1point. I just entered the inner sanctum of 54 and so far, so good, so to speak 🙂 I understand all of what you said. I understand the panic for family and self. Perhaps we are in a mid-life malaise?

      Whatever it is, I know I must find some joy in between the malaise. Just as Peg found the walk and crisp air and beautiful fall trees rejuvenating. We must all find some way to get those endorphins going in the body.

      You know, those free feel good drugs our bodies naturally produce!

      The upshot is to find what makes you soar and immerse yourself in it. Then you will feel better. 🙂 I do love fall…

      Like

      • pegoleg says:

        “free feel good drugs” – sounds good, but what are you trying to do – put thousands of hard-working pushers out of work? In this economy? Shame on you.

        I took a drive through Starved Rock right after work, my favorite fall drive, then stopped 1/2 way and got out for a short (hour) hike through the trees and canyons. Talk about a mood-lifter!

        Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Dave, you nailed it. The physical bugs me…a lot, but the real heart of the matter, the main fear that I rarely admit, even to myself is that: “I haven’t done enough, that my potential to do more is spiraling down the drain.” It’s like the picture says. Teetering on the edge of “is this all there is?”

      What if I don’t make a mark?

      Like

      • 1pointperspective says:

        At least there’s comfort in numbers (?). I certainly don’t have the answers. I’ve found that blogging has been fun and has given me a chance to try out finding my written voice, but writing a book is not anywhere near the same. In addition, the books i’ve tried to write have been (hopefully), funny, adventures in the realm of the mundane with loveable characters. I’m not sure writing a funny book about some kookie knuckleheads is exactly legacy worthy – assuming i ever get to the “finished” part.

        I’ve tried to talk with people i know about my feelings and the last time i did, one of my more respected friends suggested that I get a hobby. A HOBBY!!? I’m trying to find the freaking meaning of life and leave some kind of mark on the world, to make it a slightly better place for my having been here, and this person is suggesting…model trains?…stamp collecting?!?

        So…you have NO idea how well timed, and perfectly written your post was. You may not have changed the course of human events, but you made more than a few of us nod our heads in vigorous agreement….and that’s something, right?

        Like

  23. BillThePraiseAndWorshipGuy says:

    Hi Peg, great post, especially after looking at Mom, 81, in the hospital bed with various tubes in various orifices, a survivor (today) of open heart surgery. Thank you, Lord for another day!
    On the lighter side, well, 53 is middle age? I’m no math genius, but there are NOT a lot of 106-year-olds still walking around!!!!!!!

    Like

  24. A simple, but oh so very heartfelt . . . amen, Peg. Great song too. I’m listening to it and nodding, grateful for all that you–for all that any of us–have here, now, this day.

    Like

  25. Sandy Sue says:

    Way to turn it around, Stilt-Girl. Gratitude will always trump existential angst if we let it.

    Like

  26. ginweb.1@juno.com says:

    I think I was born middle aged, and that has always helped with this aging process.

    Like

  27. Thank you for this I have been feeling a great deal of Malaising without the Grace this past few months. You have shown a wonderful way to turn it around.

    Like

  28. Dr Peg is right about walking around lakes helps everything. (darn, that cold with sniffles – so draining)
    That’s probably the best and most sensible prayer I’ve seen in a long time.
    (Oh, and you’re a mere child…and a good one. We’ll keep you. Now smile, you can’t fix it all, but doing a good job in your little corner of the world/blogland)

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      “mere child” thanks! I got hit with that darn cold for more than a week, but am back with the living today. We’ll all just keep trying in our own corners of the world, right?

      Like

  29. I’m glad you found reasons to smile and lift yourself up, but I understand the reasons you’ve been down. It’s all about the balance we all fight to find, I guess – and our centers of gravity change over time!

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Ha! Yes, the center of gravity change can be a real downer. As I recall from high school physics that’s supposed to be only 10 meters per second squared, but I think my gravity is operating quicker – I’ve always been an overachiever.

      Like

  30. Shannon says:

    Nice post, Peg. And I certainly hope you’re regaining your joy and verve! I mutter something of a thanks every day upon wakening, much like yours, only I like to think that none of my days are ordinary – busy, maybe, but never ordinary.

    Every day that I wake up conscious and able to enjoy what the day brings – whatever it may be – is a great day. Extraordinary, even. I revel in the wonder of it all, the bugs, birds, weather, trees, chaos, the sun still doing it’s thing, how my kids can wreck a house in no time flat. I’m equally amazed at the thousands of people around me that just miss all of it every day, so I gladly take in their portion too. I’m a bit of a life glutton.

    Beautiful photo at the end. Thanks for adding the extra spring in my mid-life step today (not too far behind you). Happy Autumn, Peg!!

    Like

  31. winsomebella says:

    Glad you shared this—nothing ordinary about extraordinary appreciation!

    Like

  32. No wonder your blog is such a hit! You write with honesty and verve. I’ll be back.

    Like

  33. Just Some Guy says:

    Hello Ms. O-Leg.

    I stumbled across your blog a couple of months ago while searching for an article that had appeared in our local newspaper concerning downtown tree removal. Instead of a cheerless report on the shortsightedness of our arborcidal city council, I uncovered a treasure trove of jocularity. Good trade!

    Although not a regular reader, I dropped by again this past weekend. It was glum and rainy, just the type of day that invites Churchill’s Black Dog in for an unwelcome visit. That’s when I recalled your little oasis of risibility!

    Well, as has been the case so often in my life, my timing was impeccable. You, too, had that malevolent canine nipping at your heals.

    I’m not particularly wise, but when you get to be our age, sometimes each new day feels more like a burden than a blessing. There’s no magic elixir–no fountain of carefree youth. However, if I could share one thing with you (a benison, if you will) it would be this: take a Little Debbie’s Chocolate Chip Brownie, remove the chips, slather the brownie with marshmallow cream, top it with caramel sauce, and reapply the chips. It’s not exactly ambrosia, but it’s a passable substitute–especially when accompanied by the sparkle in my wife’s eyes. (She has the good sense to make them, rather than eat them–go figure.)

    Give Hubby-O-Leg a hug, have a benison, and know you’re not alone. Oh, by the way, watch out for goose poop on the footpath around the little lake.

    P.S. I sincerely hope your mother is doing well.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Well, well. How nice to get a visitor from my “real world.” I don’t see many of those. I feel I know you, but can’t place the voice.

      We have a skinny little replacement tree out front of the office now. I figure in another 10 years it will be big enough to provide actual shade and shelter for the birds. At that point the city fathers will commence with chopping it down. And so it goes with the city’s urban landscaping plan, code named The Sisyphus Project.

      Thanks for the good as well as the kind words. An “oasis of risibility” is something I may have to steal. Although I would say pushing that decadent brownie recipe on someone with a confessed Little Debbie addiction seems, shall we say, cruel.

      Like

      • Just Some Guy says:

        Thanks so much for taking the time to reply!

        We’ve never met. I guess I just have one of those voices.

        Coincidentally, our paths apparently almost crossed–literally–on Columbus Day by the little lake. My wife and I were walking late that lovely afternoon, and our usual route took us across the old railroad foot bridge.

        For a town that has a street named after Joyce Kilmer, our city council exhibits a cavalier disregard (pun intended) for the value of downtown trees. As stark counterpoint, the photo you posted is genuinely poignant.

        Concerning the “benison,” taunting you was the furthest thing from my mind. Admittedly, however, I may have come perilously close to being irresponsible by not including an appropriate caveat. As with all potent concoctions, the watchword is moderation.

        Like

  34. Just Some Guy says:

    Hello again Ms. O-Leg.

    What felt like an amusing little bit of word play late last evening just reads like a ham-handed typo this morning. Oh well …

    Like

  35. Peg, this may be my favorite post of yours so far (I’ve probably said that before). 🙂 But it’s true. You wrote so honestly, compelling me to keep reading, to see your inner thoughts and the fragile line between happiness and malaise upon which you walk — so beautiful. Your paragraph where you describe the ear buds and the sound of your breath was so inspiring. What a great post. It really resonated with me, and I wish you many more such wonderful walks.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Aw, thanks. I’ve been blowing off the Y every night for the last week in favor of walking outside. For one thing, I’m still getting over a cold. But the days are shortening at such an alarming rate, I know I don’t have long to enjoy the fresh air. I love it!

      Like

  36. Margie says:

    Whenever I feel a bit old, I go visit my dad at the senior’s care center – nothing like spending time with people who are, well, quite a bit older, to make me feel thankful for my relative good health.

    Like

  37. Barb says:

    Amen, honey. And here’s another piece of aspiring info. I just had a physical and my marathon-runner doctor cited a long study which tracked the Body Mass of long distance runners over years. Even when they stayed active, and ran, they still put on a little weight every year. It was part of the aging process. Of course they would’ve gained a lot more had they not been exercising, but there must be something about aging that tells our body to save those fat cells. Maybe they can be converted into brain food later when we really need it? That’s my hope and I’m stickin’ with it.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      You’re on to something, Barb. Our brains get smarter as we get older, and they know the risk of sudden famine never really goes away. I’m just storing fuel against the apocalypse!

      Like

  38. Angie Z. says:

    Beautiful photo and writing. Everyone must have these days. I know I do. Lately, and maybe it’s the icky, contentious election weighing me down, I keep thinking, what the hell are we all doing here? Just eating and drinking our java and clocking in at work and spending time with our families on the weekends. And then we die and that’s it? That’s the mark we leave on the world? Maybe we donate a few dollars to a good cause and maybe we volunteer at the soup kitchen once a year? But that’s it? That’s why we’re all here on this earth? Ugh! It seems so meaningless and hollow. It seems like we should all be out digging wells for people in Africa or caring for orphans. Every single day. Anyway, all these thoughts are somewhat fleeting but, yes, very icky to feel that kind of funk about your life. I have to shake them all off with a mindless episode of The Office.

    Thanks for your candid post.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      I know, Ang. When the kids trotted off to have their own lives, it really left me feeling “what now?”. I’ve tried to ramp-up the giving unto others part of my life because now I have the time, but even that isn’t too satisfying. I guess we just have to keep plugging along, doing the best we can. Hope The Office does it for you!

      Like

  39. pattisj says:

    I’m glad you went for that walk. Thanks for encouraging me to get outside while the weather is still nice–it’ll be time to exercise indoors all too soon. I lost a few pounds this year; now I remind myself how hard that was and I don’t want to go back there.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Amen, Patti! I’ve been trying to walk every day. I’m going tonight right after work because it’s sunny but cold here. But after 1 hour it will be already getting dark when I get done. Le sigh.

      Like

  40. Dana says:

    Peg, I love reading your humor posts, but this honest and candid post was beautiful, too. I don’t know how to achieve a balance between the positive and negative thoughts or between feeling grateful and being irked about insignificant things. One thing that gives me comfort is the saying “This too shall pass”. It helps to know that grim situations will improve, but it’s also a subtle kick in the pants for when we’re feeling on top of the world, too.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      I LOVE that thought, Dana. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately, worrying and walking around under a cloud. I know that life is good and it’s my response to it that’s off kilter, but I can’t seem to shake it off. This too shall pass.

      Like

      • Dana says:

        I’ve gone through that feeling many times in my life already, and I don’t know exactly *how* it passes, just that it always… eventually… does. Good luck shaking that storm cloud!

        Like

  41. Pingback: peep | Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings

  42. Pingback: Fear & Loathing In The ½ Price Easter Candy Aisle | Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s