Let's Make Today's Post All About Balls. Not Cynderballs, But Caribbean Rum Balls, and Footballs, Baseballs, Tennis Balls, and Even Proms & Balls.

It's been an interesting 24 hours, where I've been sort of scroll-dumb looking for information that would help educate me on the universe and the world. Sometimes, we just hav to hang low and roll with the punches, figuring out what life's tests give us (we are all test-ees, after all). That's the nature of these gems.

So, I returned yesterday and decided I was going to have a CNY wiener roast on my back patio, cooking up salt potatoes and Hoffman's, with a cucumber salad and some zucchini. I put the rub on the materials and knew company was coming at night. 

We were set to have a ball, but then I was thinking of my older sister in CNY and all she's doing for everyone...not many can handle the junk like she does. She just gets on her knees and digs in...whatever it takes. Nursing, mothering, slaughtering, driving, NAVAC, sex therapist - she does it without complaint. ("Mom, I don't need to know that," followed by "I'll be right there."

But then Dr. Kris Sealy happens to bring Caribbean Rum Balls as a gift, while I cook them weenies and taters, all the while receiving phone calls from Mommie dearest and Cynderballz, and I can't help but think, "We've got this. The Great Whatever has a sense of humor to look out for us all." It just takes tighty whities and a few showers and all will be okay.

We just never know. We live. We adapt. We adjust (or shift for comfort) and we learn. This is the way the balls roll down the alley and land on the Bocce court. In this world, balls are unpredictable and they do what they do, one sac-end at a time.

Medicine is good. Beer is better. And a sense of humor is how we cope, so it is best. Look out dog-walkers of Cherry Heights...you just might be getting a story today like no other. 

If only I could share this chocolate with my mom and sisters...I would.