Two days ago
it looked like nearly everyone usually reading my blog had jumped ship on me.
Sailed off to the land of striking for better subjects.
Or more social action.
Or at least as much controversy as whether you can wear tennis shoes with a ball gown
if you are elected prom queen.
The truth though,
as I later discovered,
when reading other bloggers,
apparently with the same problem,
was that everyone on blog
was apparently just plain in a stinking bad mood.
Maybe something to do with the rain.
Or reign.
But still, when you read your husband your blog,
and he asks if you have a jar of peanutbutter somewhere…
And your comment section contains elements
roughly reminiscent of Dante Alighieri’s:
“abandon hope, ye who enter here…”
You suddenly realize:
time for a topic full of hope.
And joy.
That, as someone once wrote,
“nobody can’t not like”
ie
jello.
Yup.
Jello.
And here, since I have gotten hit with this cultural identification marker several times,
and still find it marvelously funny,
including a first confrontation with Edinburghese:
a Chinese mother, Italian father,
and Edinburgh dialect speaking son,
mom-and-pop-restaurant owners,
all trying to ask the idiot if she would like jelly for desert.
Huh?
With mushy peas and white sausage?
Sure.
Why not.
It was jello.
And nicely done it was.
Which brings me to the point.
Half of what interests me about jello,
when it does,
is the memory factor.
Comfort as a child with a sore throat.
Throwing cubes of it at school,
when the state board decided if you put tomato juice in jello it is a vegetable.
Shocking Germans with it in the form of golden glow salad-
lemon jello with pineapple and grated carrot.
Childish, harmless,
when injured, make it with less sugar,
and eat jello.
That to me is growing up.
Knowing what makes you feel better and doing it.
Like dancing in the rain to the beach boys,
remembering beautiful moments,
and recreating them, if you can.
Just don’t toss the jello on anyone else.
Or neglect the ones you are responsible for.
Or yourself, of course.
And as for growing old?
Baby cream,
cereal with cream,
icecream,
face cream,
wrinkle cream,
vanishing cream,
worm cream.
The seven ages of woman.
Thanks, Will.
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Quahog on a Tightrope 
why don’t you drop into rummuser.com and see his take on our Friday topic, and make a comment.
the comments are open-and there are usually hundreds flying back and forth, and then you can just ask if you can write. He lets people on all the time. And in an emergency, you could probably ask Shackman at Shackman-speaks.blogspot.com. He is a web editor.
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my favorite jello is that pale green conglop that has chopped pecans and pineapple and probably cottage cheese. can’t remember exactly. but i always liked it at thanksgiving. and every other holiday.
and now I have just lowered the high metaphoric tone of this beautiful post to jello recipes! LOLOL!
ah well.
i’m still growing.
out if not up.
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My mother used to make that stuff- I was about ten before I knew lime jello ever came without cottage cheese. As to lowering the tone, it”s all life, even the green jello. Besides, I absolutely love your style. And even more so, your love of life. Maybe we should work together with Cathe on a jello exhibition. And Chuck could do the music. LOL
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yes! yum!
i’m not musical at all. but I love all artists. and I would participate.
I could quiver when I dance. it could be one of those live performance exhibits.
and then we’d hand out little sample of that pale jello with cottage cheese!
I think we’re onto something here! LOLOL!
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