Darning my darning!

Since I've already established that I'm walking a fine line between sanity and insanity, I thought I might speak to the intimate relationship I have with language. I'm a complete book junkie and always have some new word I'm loving. At the moment, it's... drumroll please...
DARNING
I can't explain it, I just love the word and I like to use it in sentences wherever possible. And since I'm not totally clear on what it means, and ignorance is bliss, I can use it with great frequency and confidence. I love it because it harkens back to a time, a time so ancient that Hello Kitty and America's Next Top Model didn't exist so what did these people have to live for? Darning. It must have been good! And, Mom don't head straight down to comments and tell me what the real meaning is. Lets keep the mystery alive for a bit more, because really now... where is the mystery in my daily doings?
Hmmm. What's that awful smell? No mystery here... another trip to the changing table.
I wonder.... What's going to happen, daily, at 5pm in Bedlam? No mystery here... I will be tripping over 3 sets of arms and legs flailing, making dirt angels on my kitchen floor as this appears to be the hour of their awakening. The hour when my children collectively decide, that while things have gone fairly well that day, they can no longer bear another moment without their father. And my inability to present him to them, is tantamount to failure. So like the Ppeople Who Know What They Are Doing recommend, I allow them to "have their feelings" while also giving myself the emotional space to decide it's just the right time to grab that pinot noir and pop the cork!

I digress. I can't even remember the first time I became aware of the word, Darning. I once heard someone say that they knew how to darn socks, which sounds charming, but before they went any further I threw my hands up over my ears and asked them to stop right there before revealing the meaning of the word to me.

So now dear reader (hi Mom!) you will see, how precisely miraculous it is that I've remained out and about in society, Darning under the radar with a barren medicine cabinet and not an hour spent behind the padded, welcoming walls of a local mental facility other than my voluntary beat on Bedlam Ave.

And since I'm never quite sure if I'm going to blog another word, I would also like to publicly address, at this time, those (Dave) that have criticized me for my love of Kenny Rogers song, "The Gambler. I'm just sayin' that what this song is really about is a mortal and a sage coming together and feasting on some wisdom, which is what I'm hoping will happen with each homeless or downtroden soul that I happen upon in my travels. A Sage in disguise. Sage, take me away...