The Party’s Over

Hello, Friend,

by Margot Wistar Potter

The glitter has faded,
The sprinkles are spent.
The candles are melted,
The greetings were sent.
Another year older,
Not feeling much wiser.
Could probably use a financial advisor.
The face in the mirror,
Is that of a stranger.
That new facial cream,
Might be the game changer.
Many years lie behind,
Fewer yet lie ahead.
Considering buying a Craftmatic bed.
One day without warning,
You’re suddenly old.
Your joints get to aching,
Your digits get cold.
Time waits for no man,
Not even for me.
I can’t fucking believe I just turned 63.

You will be shocked to hear I did not get a new home for my birthday. Wah, wah. Ya can’t blame a gal for trying! I did get two lovely coffee mugs, the world’s cutest tea steeper, and some much appreciated mad money. I baked my own chocolate cheesecake with chocolate ganache topping that I dolloped with homemade whipped cream and sprinkled with a judicious smattering of toasted coconut and pecans. It is so rich, dense, and decadent that even Mr. Potter and his infamous sweet tooth were overwhelmed.

My work is done here.

There are vague inklings of possible inclinations towards finally making some art or art adjacent creations. I make no promises, as the lack of sleep over the past month makes afternoons a bit of a crap shoot around these parts.

I’m not a napper, but I’m pretty damn good at pro-craftinating.

Oh looky here! Hello, Lovely Vermont Home!

I Would if I Could (But I Can’t so I Won’t)

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Join The (Olde) Lady Party! We don’t do naps, but we do have opinions!

Sometimes I make art.

Madge’s Doggy Day Care, Coffee, Art Supply, and Dream Home Fund.