What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul.
Yiddish Proverb
That big beautiful soap in the middle was in the gift basket I got from Rachael at Christmas and I have so wanted to show it off. But in what context? Then I came upon the proverb, thought about my friend Fran, and decided on this post. So there are the soaps, from Rachael, the Dollar Tree store and those in front are hotel soaps that that people donate to the thrift store in town. And I happily purchase from time to time.
The laughter is below, provided courtesy of my friend, Fran, also known on the blogs as Fishducky. Let me tell you, hanging out with Fran is indeed very good for your soul. Fishducky doesn't have a blog of her own, but comments frequently on blogs she enjoys and has developed an admiring bunch of fans and followers based on her comments alone. She has even been asked to contribute true and funny stories from her life to several blogs. I have featured Fran's art on my blog before, and will do so again; some of her funny true stories can be found here later this week, one on the 11th, I believe and one appeared on Melynda's blog last week.
Since this post is about laughter, I decided to share Fran's Ode To Being Seventy-Three. Fran is now 77 and going strong.
The laughter is below, provided courtesy of my friend, Fran, also known on the blogs as Fishducky. Let me tell you, hanging out with Fran is indeed very good for your soul. Fishducky doesn't have a blog of her own, but comments frequently on blogs she enjoys and has developed an admiring bunch of fans and followers based on her comments alone. She has even been asked to contribute true and funny stories from her life to several blogs. I have featured Fran's art on my blog before, and will do so again; some of her funny true stories can be found here later this week, one on the 11th, I believe and one appeared on Melynda's blog last week.
Since this post is about laughter, I decided to share Fran's Ode To Being Seventy-Three. Fran is now 77 and going strong.
AN ODE TO BEING SEVENTY-THREE
My legs are sore. I need a cane.
My body has gone quite insane.
My breasts were perky as a song.
My bra size now is 40-Long.
I cannot hear. I cannot see.
I have to pee. Oh, woe is me!
My body’s fat. My skin is thin.
I do not like the shape I’m in.
I cough–I cough until I choke.
I’m going out to have a smoke.
My bones are brittle, I fear my fate.
I’m liable to disintegrate.
My memory now seems to have gone.
Who is that standing on my lawn?
It’s my husband Bud–or is his name Paul?
I thought he died–I can’t recall.
The thermometer says it’s 63.
I don’t know why it lies to me.
I can’t stop sweating–watch me pour.
My body says it’s 104.
My joints creak and pop so bad
I’m like a steel drum from Trinidad.
Leg cramps woke me again last night.
Why’s my skin so loose and my muscles tight?
My health is iffy. I may not thrive.
But life is good–and I’m still alive!
And yet I wonder more and more
What I’ll be like at seventy-four!
–Fran Fischer
